Caught
by SlytherinScarlette
Summary: "The problem was simple. Harry didn't want to quit. Sure, he might be endangering himself. He might be too dependent. But the biggest issue was that Harry did not regret these things. What he regretted most of all was getting caught." Cutting. Mentor!Sev.
1. Late Night Intrusions

"And to what, may I ask, do I owe this visit?"

The chamber door was only open enough to reveal half of Snape's angry expression. He wasn't wearing his usual robes, but his sleepwear was still black as night; Harry could tell he'd woken the Potions Master at an unreasonable hour.

"I... I'm sorry to bother you, sir," he began. The words sounded as fake as they were; he was not sorry in the slightest. Why on earth Dumbledore would subject him to such a punishment was beyond him. Sure, he'd been caught. Sure, he probably needed a blood replenishing potion. But Snape? It wasn't his fault that Madam Pomfrey had been on vacation for the winter holidays! If he'd only been more careful... he cursed under his breath.

"Am I to assume you've called at such an hour to spew profanity at my door, or did you actually intend to finish that sentence in a reasonable manner?" The ice in his tone was enough to make Harry forget his promise to the headmaster. This was SNAPE, for Merlin's sake. He could just turn around. He could just pretend Snape hadn't answered the door, and walk back up to the Gryffindor common room.

Or could he? Just as he'd turned around to leave, the dizziness had become too much. He threw his arm against the dungeon wall; it was all he could do to keep from collapsing.

"Are you intoxicated, Potter?" Snape hissed, opening the door completely. "Could you not have bothered some other professor at this late hour? Perhaps Albus?"

Harry turned arond slowly, steadying himself with the wall once more. "I've seen him once already. He- he sent me to you. And no, I'm not drunk," he added, narrowing his eyes. Not even ten firewhiskeys could make him come to visit Snape willingly, late or otherwise. "I've been told to ask you for a potion."

Snape's eyes widened with curiosity for a split second, quickly replaced by his usual cold stare. "Albus has asked YOU to awaken me at half past two, in the middle of the winter holiday, to request a potion from me? What potion requires such urgency?"

This was the part Harry had been dreading. He had been rehearsing what lies to feed to Snape on his walk from the familiar gargoyle all the way down to the dungeon, but in the face of such interrogation, had forgotten his lines. He bit his lip and looked up at his potions professor with resentment and, as Snape was surprised to see, a hint of embarrassment.

"I need- do you happen to have a, well, you know, blood replenishing potion?" He'd attempted with all his might to come off as matter of factly, but Snape's gaze revealed his shortcoming. His black eyes bore into Harry's without blinking. Harry recognized what the look meant, and he tried furiously to block it, but it was no use: Harry had never been good at occluding, even in a right state.

"Come in, Potter," he spat, and turned on his heel. Leaving the chamber door open, Snape walked into the darkness within. Harry paused for a minute at the door, gave a quick look behind him, and entered Snape's office, holding his breath.

_Perhaps Snape hasn't seen anything_, Harry thought optimistically, _and he just wants to get rid of me as quickly as possible_. He followed Snape through the candle-lit room, hoping he could avoid more questions.

Snape opened his potions storage cabinet and fingered through a few vials. His hand stopped at a full vial of crimson fluid. He turned around and, without making eye contact with Harry, handed him the opened container.

"You will need to swallow it entirely at once, or it will lose its effectiveness," explained Snape. "It's best to take with water, as I'm sure you're probably dehydrated as well." His tone was no longer icy, but it wasn't friendly either.

Harry continued to stare at Snape, the vial still clasped in his sweaty palm. "It's not for me, professor, it's just-"

"Spare me your petty attempts at a dishonest justification, Potter," Snape interrupted. "The longer you wait to take the potion, the longer you will continue to soak the right sleeve of your repulsive Gryffindor-crested robes with even more scarlet than necessary."

Harry quickly jerked his arm behind his back. He'd assumed nobody could see the blood through the jet black color of his sleeve. Of course, Snape had always been more perceptive than most. Realizing his best option was to drink, he pressed the vial to his lips and obediently swallowed the contents in one gulp.

It tasted like metal, weeds, and, oddly enough, pineapple.

He handed the empty container back to Snape without eye contact. He continued to stare at his feet. He heard footsteps, clinking, and the unmistakeable sound of rushing fluid. Moments later, a glass of water appeared on the table in front of him.

"Drink."

The command was well understood, and quickly followed. An argument was the least of Harry's desires at the moment. He did not look up until his glass was empty. Snape was standing across from him, his expression unreadable.

"T-Thanks," Harry stammered with uncertainty. He wasn't sure what else to say to Snape, but an expression of gratitude seemed the most appropriate, small as it was. Snape didn't seem to acknowledge the weak attempt, and continued to stare at Harry with the same blank expression. A few moments of awkward silence passed between the pair, until-

"We will need to dress that wound before the potion becomes obsolescent, Potter," said Snape. "Kindly lift your sleeve."

If Snape's compliance with the potion hadn't been surprising enough, his last remark had exceeded all expectation. Harry did not oblige, however. He looked up at the potions master apprehensively.

"I shall give you a moment to overcome your disinclination while I retrieve some basic medical supplies."

Snape disappeared into a back room, leaving Harry feeling ashamed and regretful. He didn't want Snape's help dressing any wound. On the contrary, he'd wanted to fulfill Dumbledore's orders to take the potion as quickly as possible before disappearing back to the Gryffindor common room. Checking to make sure he was still alone, Harry glanced around the room quickly before bringing his injured arm in front of him and slowly peeling back the sleeve. Disgusting. A behavior nobody would assume of the boy-who-lived, and yet here it was, screaming at him in bright drops of blood. He definitely couldn't show this to Snape. The cut wasn't suicidal, nor did it appear to be, but it was still scary - long, deep, and telling.

He traced the incision with his forefinger, taking note of the less severe, thin white scars surrounding it. He'd never gone this far before. And he hasn't really intended to, it had just... come out, in a wave of frustration and grief.

_Disgusting._

He reached to pull the sleeve back down once more, but a hand clasped around his wrist and held it steady, rendering the attempt useless. Harry's heart jumped. Startled, he looked up at Snape. "I-I didn't realize you'd returned-"

"I appreciate your cooperation," said Snape coolly. He dropped Harry's wrist and it fell limply to the side. Harry knew better than to fight it again, and looked away as Snape began cleaning his wound with what he assumed to be some sort of disinfectant. It stung something awful, and Harry let out a quiet whimper before he could stop himself. Snape looked down at him with slight amusement.

"I can't imagine this hurting worse than what you've already done to yourself."

Harry bit his lip. Snape was right, of course. Still, it was a different sort of pain. He hadn't caused it. It was out of his control. Much like the deaths he'd experienced so recently. Much like his inability to save the world.

I wonder what Sirius would think of me now, thought Harry. He pushed the thought out of his mind. Even fleeting thoughts of his godfather caused him severe pain lately. He looked up at Snape, who was now holding his wand against Harry's cut and muttering something incomprehensible.

"Please... please don't."

Snape stopped his incantation and stared at Harry curiously.

"I'd like to keep... well, keep the scar, if it's all the same to you."

Snape gave Harry a look of confusion, but pulled back his wand nevertheless. "I suppose that remains your choice." He pocketed his wand and opened the small medical kit he'd brought, retrieving a roll of gauze and wrapping it slowly around Harry's forearm.

Once the wound had been adequately wrapped, Snape returned his tools to the back room and took a seat in the chair across from Harry, who had expected more long silences. He was disappointed, however, as Snape began to speak immediately.

"Do you wish to die, Potter?" asked Snape.

Harry shook his head.

"I would assume not, as your injury doesn't appear to be suicidal in nature. However, I don't feel comfortable allowing you to leave my quarters tonight. Not in your... current emotional state."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Stay HERE? With... with YOU?"

"I assure you it isn't my strongest desire either, Potter."

"Then let me LEAVE!" Harry started, surprised at the strength his voice had recovered. "Why should you give a flying fuck what I do or where I go tonight?"

"Language, Potter," Snape snarled. "I would expect you to treat me with a little more respect given the help you have received tonight."

"I don't need your- I don't need ANYONE'S help-"

"It appears the headmaster begs to differ with that sentiment, Potter, and I certainly doubt he would approve of me releasing you to your own devices just now."

"I only came here because he made me!" Harry snapped, glad to have some anger to diminish his embarrassment. "I did what he asked me to do! I don't have to do anything else!"

"On the contrary. You have been asked by your potions professor to remain here. You will stay, or I will have to tell your little Gryffindor friends to keep an eye on you in my place - I presume you haven't told them about this little issue yet?"

Harry fell silent. The ultimatum was unfair, clever as it was. He couldn't imagine the looks on Ron or Hermione's faces, being escorted to the Gryffindor tower by the greasy git with knowledge of his habit. He regained some composure before speaking again.

"I don't have anything to sleep in."

"That can be arranged."

"My friends will be expecting me-"

"Your friends will understand an early morning detention with me, should you choose to be dishonest with them as well."

Defeated, ashamed, and quite sleepy, Harry gave a slight jerk of his head, which Snape understood to be agreement. Snape waved his wand, and a small bedset appeared on the little couch behind them, as well as a pair of pajama pants. Without another word, Snape returned to his room, leaving Harry alone to ponder the events of the night on his makeshift bed.


	2. Showering Explanations

Harry arrived in the Great Hall the following morning just in time to catch his best friends finishing breakfast.

"Oi! 'arry!" Ron waved him over, his mouth full of toast. "Where 'ave you been?"

Harry took the seat beside Hermione, and handed Ron a napkin to wipe the dropping crumbs from his mouth. "Morning, Ron. I've been... I've been in detention with Snape all morning..."

"I don't recall you recieving a detention from Snape, Harry," said Hermione.

"He, erm, caught me in the halls after hours when I'd gone to... erm, sneak food from the house elves."

Hermione narrowed her eyes disapprovingly and muttered something about slave labor. Ron swallowed his toast.

"Damn greasy git," he said, much more clearly. "Giving students detention on holiday. Bet Malfoy would've gotten away with it."

"Yeah," Harry agreed halfheartedly, and quickly changed the subject. "Anything exciting happen this morning?"

"Other than Hermione reading aloud the same conlusion paragraph in her Transfiguration essay repeatedly to check the comprehensiveness?"

"_Comprehensibility_, Ron, and you'd do well to attempt it once in a while," Hermione corrected. The bickering continued and Harry fell silent. Two weeks left of winter holiday. Two weeks he'd be able to avoid Snape, keeping his dignity in tact. But once the term began once more, how would he survive potions? Would Snape find every excuse to expose his secret to the class? He recalled Snape's lecture on werewolves the day he'd substituted for Lupin a few years back. Just what he needed; a potions class devoted to blood replenishing potions, specifically to be tested on Harry...

"So, are you in?"

Ron's voice snapped him back to reality. "Sure, yeah... I'm in... in what?"

"Quidditch practice after dinner tonight! The snow's clearing up, I'll bet we can get some good practice in before term starts."

"Yeah, I'll be there," Harry said, attempting to make his voice sound excited. It seemed convincing enough for Ron, who continued to chatter about trying out a move he'd seen at the world cup. Harry found this conversation much easier; all he had to do was nod occasionally, and let Ron continue discussing his plans excitedly.

Harry absentmindedly ran his fingers over his bandaged arm. He'd managed to escape Snape's without confrontation this morning. He pretended to be asleep until he heard Snape turn on the shower, and dashed out the chamber before he could be noticed. He was far calmer this morning, having had a good seven hours of sleep the night before, but the feeling of having somebody else know about his secret was enough to keep his stomach tied in a permanent knot. Unable to eat, he opted for the glass of pumpkin juice Hermione had poured for him, continuing to nod at Ron apathetically.

"...and I was thinking, if we lined up the chasers just right-"

"I regret to interrupt what I'm sure would have been a superlative strategy, Mr. Weasley," came a silky voice from behind Harry. "However, I wish to have a few words with Mr. Potter here." Harry straightened up in his seat, startled. So much for avoiding Snape.

"Whatever you want to say to him, you can say in front of us! Right, Harry?" Ron declared bravely. Ordinarily, Harry would have appreciated Ron's confidence, however, the circumstances were not quite ordinary. He stared down at his uneaten toast, hoping Snape would be tactful enough to avoid all private subject matter.

"Perhaps..." began Snape, and Harry could feel his black eyes burning holes in the back of his head. "However, I'd appreciate some acknowledgement while speaking to you, Potter."

Harry turned around to face Snape, but did not dare make eye contact.

"You left detention early this morning, Potter," Snape continued. "This is unacceptable. You will return to my office tonight-"

"But we had Quidditch plans!" Ron interrupted. "And anyway, who was Harry really hurting?"

Snape closed his mouth and looked at Harry thoughtfully. Harry once again avoided his gaze, and concentrated rather harshly on the painting of two wizards playing chess across the hall.

"Potter has disclosed his actions to you, Mr. Weasley? And you understand them to be harmless?"

_Move the pawn_, thought Harry, focusing on the active chessboard. _Destroy the rook with the knight-_

"I'll bet if Malfoy had done the same thing, you would've just let him go!"

_That's it... now move the queen before the king..._

"Should Draco display actions as hazardous as Potter's, I would expect his best friends to display a bit more concern."

_Checkmate._

Harry opened his mouth to interrupt the coversation, but Ron spoke first.

"What's so dangerous about sneaking food? I would expect Malfoy's chubby friends to appreciate a little extra treacle tart!"

Harry released the breath he'd been holding in. Ron continued to glare. Snape, however, seemed to have noticed Harry's sudden relief, and to Harry's great surprise, played along.

"Students are not to be in the halls after curfew, Mr. Weasley, hungry or otherwise. I expect you in my office at seven," he added to Harry before turning around and leaving.

"Greasy git," Ron muttered, and returned to his toast. Hermione, however, was staring at Harry with an odd look on her face. Before she could question the incident, Harry excused himself for a shower, and left the table hurriedly, feeling Hermione's brown eyes on his back as he sprinted out of the hall.

..

The hot water scalded Harry's back. He stood in the shower, still and silent, nervously anticipating the questions he'd no doubt receive tonight.

Maybe he could just stay here, in the shower. It was nice, quiet, lonely... void of all confrontation and judgment. Nobody around to bother him. There was plenty of water, and he could live off the rats that occasionally scurried through the cracks in the walls.

Just like his godfather. Living off rodents. His heart sank and settled with the knot in his stomach. He shook the memory out of his mind.

He reached for the nearest bar of soap, but just as he'd grabbed it-

"I see you've managed to avoid ME all semester!"

The bar of soap Harry had been holding slid to the ground, and Harry tripped over it in shock. He landed on his side, quick to cover up all exposed parts as he inched toward the corner of the shower.

"What do you- what are you- what in the hell- _GET OUT!_" Harry screamed at the young ghost in pigtails, who giggled in response.

"I only wanted to ask you when you'd visit," she admitted woefully. "It's been so lonely at my toilet."

"Myrtle, how many times are you going to sneak up on me while I'm bathing?" Harry stood up and walked slowly towards the towel rack, taking great care not to reveal himself in the process. He grasped the nearest towel and quickly covered his waist.

"What's that?" Myrtle asked, pointing towards Harry's right arm. "Have you tried to off yourself? Sad, sad, the living never appreciate how good they've got it, while poor Myrtle lacks any choice in the matter!" She began to sob, much to Harry's annoyance. Harry instinctively jerked his arm behind his back.

"It was an accident," Harry lied. "I was trying to chop up some ingredients in potions, and the knife just slipped."

Myrtle stopped sobbing, and instead gave Harry a disbelieving stare.

"Listen - Myrtle," said Harry, attempting to keep his voice pleasant to avoid another outburst. "Do you think you could keep this between us?"

Myrtle narrowed her eyes, and Harry could see new tears forming. "I don't suppose I've got anyone to tell, have I? All alone in my toilet, nobody to gossip with... or about."

"I'll visit you, Myrtle, I promise - just please don't mention this to anybody."

Myrtle gave Harry a half smile, and turned around to leave. Just before she reached her exit, she looked over at Harry once more. "If you ever manage to do it right... you can always stay with me in my toilet, you know."

And then she was gone.

First Dumbledore, then Snape, and now Myrtle - he'd gone ages without being discovered, and suddenly it felt like Harry's coping mechanism had headlined the Daily Prophet.

_It's not like it's hurting anybody else. Would they rather me be a sodding mess all the time? Behaving like Moaning Myrtle, sobbing at anybody who will listen?_

He slid down the wall and sat, staring at the faint white lines on his hand.

_I must not tell lies._

The words that had taught him to fight through emotion. Umbridge had been unbearable, but Harry withstood the pain to remain prideful, and refused to let her see his discomfort. Enough detentions had brought about a new revelation - it was a distraction, a way to avoid an outburst. He'd focused on the repeated mutilation rather than the horrid woman that sat behind the desk in front of him.

The thin lines of blood, the pain, resulting from the etching he was creating with his own quill; it became his way of escaping all else.

So it was no surprise, really. No surprise that once Sirius had gone, and his broken mirror remained - all alone in Dudley's second bedroom, he took to scratching his wrists to avoid the finality of it all; to escape and to forget.

And then it became habit. Scratching, then cutting, and now... slitting? _Slicing?_

While physical pain had been useful in helping Harry avoid emotional pain and realization, it was becoming harder and harder to avoid the consequences of his self injury.

Harry stood up, dressed himself, and made his way up to the common room to find something new to wrap his arm with - he'd thrown the bandages away before showering.

..

The chamber door remained as closed and unwelcoming as it had the night before. He'd reached to knock on three separate occasions, but dropped his fist as suddenly as he'd raised it.

Harry wasn't sure how long he'd been standing in front of Snape's office, but he just couldn't bring himself to enter. Either Snape was going to punish him, or try and help him take away his means of release - neither sounded too inviting.

He considered leaving, hiding in his room for as long as he could, but a creaking door told Harry he'd waited a bit too long.

"Fifteen past the hour, Mr. Potter," said the icy voice inside. "I believe you're late."

Harry remained silent, biting the inside of his lip in a feeble attempt to calm himself.

"I suppose it's also plausible that you were precisely on time, and have been standing here for fifteen minutes deciding whether or not to enter," Snape added knowingly.

"I wanted to leave. I don't really have anything to say."

"Yet here you remain."

Harry was saved the trouble of responding, as it didn't seem Snape was expecting anything of the sort; he opened the door to his office, and beckoned Harry inside.


	3. Confrontation

**A/N: Hello, readers! I am thrilled so many of you have subscribed to alerts already! I'm having lots of fun with this, and I hope you're enjoying it! This is a very personal issue for me, and it's extremely difficult to justify and describe specific feelings and actions. But I'm trying here, cut me some slack! :)**

**I am writing this story for two reasons.**

**1) I was once a pretty decent writer, but stopped for about five years. I've lost a lot of confidence and skill since I quit, so I'm hoping to gain some of this back by practicing here. **

**2) I wanted to read a story regarding this issue that kept Snape more in-character. No offense to those that write OOC, but sometimes we need more Sour-Grape Snape, you know what I mean? (Any Starkids out there? :D)**

**I apologize for the shortness of this chapter, it just felt right to stop it where I did - I tried to continue, but it just wouldn't flow right, you know? Next update will be soon to make up for it.**

**Thanks to my lovely reviewers, you put a smile on my face every morning!**

**Okay, shutting up now. **

**...**

Jars lined the shelves, full of colorful potions and unidentifiable ingredients. Harry surveyed the room quietly, avoiding Snape's black eyes that were undoubtedly staring at him from the seat behind his enormous and cluttered desk. If he was waiting for Harry to break the silence, he would be severely disappointed. It wasn't just that Harry didn't know what to say, it was as if his voice remained in the hallway outside Snape's office. His shell of confidence had shed with his pride; he was left ashamed, self-conscious, and mute. They sat in silence. If he was able to speak, Harry could have recited the potion patterns on the shelves by memory. It wasn't until he risked eye contact with Snape that the silence was broken.

"I have discussed the circumstances with the headmaster," said Snape. "He is concerned about your behavior, and we are in agreement that it must discontinue."

"So," Harry began, attempting to locate his voice. "So if he's the concerned one, why can't I talk to him instead?"

"The headmaster has left for the remainder of the holiday, Potter. He has asked me to keep-"

"He's _gone? _Where'd he go?"

"That," said Snape, "is something you may discuss with him yourself, once this... _aberrant_ behavior has been corrected."

"Okay, I'm done. Let's just forget it happened, all right? I'm finished with it."

"I sincerely doubt that," said Snape, his black eyes focused on Harry's sleeve.

"What do you know? It was an accident, it's not that big of a deal!" exclaimed Harry. He was used to attention, people pointing at his scar and whispering his name everywhere he went in the wizarding world. This kind of attention was different, however, and made Harry extremely uncomfortable. The only thing he wanted to do was steal a time-turner and prevent Dumbledore from finding him last night. _Yes, brilliant plan,_ Harry thought to himself,_ If it weren't for the fact they've all been destroyed by the ministry._

"Lift up your sleeve, Potter."

"Wh-what? No!"

"If this truly is 'no big deal', as you so characterize it, lift up your sleeve. Entirely."

The silence fell again. An escape route seemed unlikely. Reluctantly, Harry did as he was told.

"Is that... toilet tissue, Potter?" exclaimed Snape.

"Yeah... well I had to shower and didn't really have any bandages in my trunk..."

"You could have come to me."

"Right..."

Snape stood up and left the room, returning shortly with the small medicine kit he'd used last night. He set it on his desk, and turned to face Harry. "Remove the tissue."

Once again, Harry followed Snape's orders obediently. He unrolled the sloppy tissue from his healing arm, and balled it up in his fist, clenching it as hard as he could. Snape said nothing, but gently lifted Harry's arm to examine it. Harry turned to look at the floor as he felt Snape push his sleeve all the way up to his shoulder, exposing far more of his arm than the night previously.

Snape remained silent as he turned Harry's arm slowly, pausing occasionally on areas Harry knew were more heavily scarred. He tried to push the shame and embarrassment out of his mind by recalling the potion pattern he'd memorized earlier.

_Amber, Clear, Emerald_, he concentrated as hard as he could._ Lavender-Black-Yellow-_

He felt Snape release his arm and heard him open the medical kit.

_Yellow, Yellow, Silver..._

The familiar sting of Snape's disinfectant potion made Harry's arm flinch. - _Silver, Blue, Amber, Clear... Emerald!_ - He felt the bandages being wrapped around his forearm. _Lavender-Black-Yellow-_

"You may finish trying to distract yourself now, Mr. Potter, as I am through," Snape said as he returned to his seat. "This would have been easier had you just let me heal it last night."

"I... I prefer watching them heal naturally," admitted Harry, surprised by his own honesty.

"So you will admit this has become habitual?"

Harry stared.

"Your verbal admission is not necessary, as I believe what I've just seen of your arm speaks for itself. However, as Albus has asked me to help remedy this... _situation_, we shall have to find a way to improve your communication very soon."

Snape? Help Harry? Admittedly, the idea had passed fleetingly through his mind before entering the chamber, but surely it was not a serious one; Snape would rather drink spoiled pumpkin juice than do anything to help him. And even if Snape was as kind as Dumbledore, Harry wasn't sure he wanted any sort of guidance from either one. He had found a way to stay strong through the death of the only person Harry felt deserved the title of "family member", and here, in front of him, sat the self-proclaimed enemy of Sirius himself, trying to take it away from him.

"I don't want help," Harry said quietly. "I don't need it." He stood up and turned around to leave.

It seemed Harry's words had just broken down whatever emotional barrier Snape was using to remain civil. Snape was no longer calm; on the contrary, his next words seemed absolutely livid:

"Selfish, stubborn boy!"

Harry froze, shocked - he had been so used to Snape's calm tone over the past two days, he'd almost forgotten how threatening the potions master could be when provoked. He slowly turned back around.

"The things others have been consistently doing to save your life! And you don't wish to correct yourself, you don't wish to heal... you remain _obstinate_ in your desire to continue running from your problems while the rest of the wizarding world is doing every damn thing they can to keep you alive! All in vain!"

"I'm not trying to kill myself!" Harry shouted back, grateful for another reason to become angry once again. Confidence was always easier for Harry when he was mad.

"Not intentionally! But your last incident is enough to prove that you lack control over this particular problem, and if you choose to continue to destroy yourself, you might not be so fortunate next time!"

"So what if I'm not? What if I don't want to be the one that saves the world, the one that everyone relies on? What if I don't care how dangerous this is?"

At this, Snape stood up, gripping the edges of his desk, loathing etched in every wrinkle on his face. When he spoke, however, he did not yell. His voice was low and quiet, yet immensely powerful.

"Your mother," he hissed, "did not sacrifice her own life for this."

This time, Harry did not shout back. He stood frozen, speechless, and shocked. His arms trembled, the desire to quit and the desire to take Snape's potions knife and slash his arm right then and there were flooding him in powerful conflict. He felt his eyes watering in frustration and emotional anguish. After several moments of silence, Snape sat back down, and Harry followed suit.

"Okay," whispered Harry.

Snape's eyes met Harry's, and his expression softened slightly. "Okay, what?"

"Okay... I'll listen."

**x**


	4. It's Personal

**A/N: 'ello, lovely readers! This thing called college prevented me from updating sooner, but it's a little longer this time:)**

**Thought I'd mention something - I wouldn't call Dumbledore's decision to entrust Harry to Snape a somewhat feeble attempt and getting them to bond, nor an act of cowardice (Dumbledore never had any problem with talking to Harry while trying to keep him alive all those other years... hahaha). This book takes place in an AU sixth year, where there is no plot to kill Dumbledore. I would assume Dumbledore is pushing Harry on Snape because he's busy, out doing the horcrux thing.**

**And yes, I say assume, because while I'm writing this, I'm starting to notice that it has more control over me than I do it - I keep trying to rush the Sev/Harry bond and add stories I want to see show up eventually, but it won't let me - it's got a mind of its own now, this thing. I have created a monster!**

**Also, to Eregnar: You pretty much made my whole week. I had a few Red Vines in your honor.**

**Onward!**

**...**

"There will be rules, Potter. And I expect them to be followed."

Harry nodded, his eyes glued to his lap. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting... a loveable Snape? A healer? A guardian? But yes, this made sense. Rules, restrictions, and expectations were the basics of Snape's teaching method. Why should this be any different? Harry knew what would come next, but he wasn't ready for it. Had this been last year, he would have been sitting here being lectured for general belligerence, talking back to Snape with the confidence of his father. Today, however, he was sitting here completely exposed, and there was absolutely no confidence to be had in that. He knew what Snape would say, and he would have given up his Firebolt for a way out of it.

"You will give me whatever tool it is you have been using, and you will not harm yourself again."

The problem was simple... Harry didn't want to quit. Sure, he might be endangering himself. Sure, he might seem too dependent. But the biggest issue was that Harry did not regret these things. What he regretted most of all, painful as it was to admit to himself, was getting caught. If he was triggered by things beyond his control, how was forcing him to stop going to help? The mere thought of being told he couldn't do it made it all the more desireable. How he longed to be back in his bunk, waiting for Ron's snores, and then releasing his frustrations on the only thing he had control over...

Yes, that was it. He couldn't control Lord Voldemort's return. He couldn't control the death of Cedric. He couldn't control the loss of Sirius. It all remained beyond him, and hurt in a way that words could not express; these things were evident and final. What he could control, and possibly the only thing he had left, was how much he decided to hurt himself.

Just thinking about it was sickeningly inviting. And the sooner he could get away from Snape, the sooner he could regain composure.

"And if you choose to disobey me, I will most certainly find out."

This was unfair. Harry's inability to occlude put his life on display. He had no more privacy than a caged animal. But he knew this would be of no significance to Snape, who never seemed to think Harry's privacy was very important to begin with.

"You have not responded in the slightest. Do you find these rules to be unreasonable?"

Harry looked up, wondering if he should risk explaining his frustrations aloud. Of course, the worst thing Snape could do was disagree.

"Professor, sir, would it be possible for you to... you know, stay out of my head?"

Snape looked at Harry curiously. "You believe you have earned that right?"

"Sir, it has nothing to do with this." He motioned towards his arm. "I just don't like losing every bit of my privacy. I mean, you can check my arms every day if you'd like. But part of my issue is that I don't like losing control. And knowing that you can access my mind whenever you want... well, it kind of adds to that, you know?"

Harry waited for Snape's response, wondering how sincere he'd sounded. To his great surprise, Snape responded in his favor.

"I will avoid using legilimency on you for the timebeing. But Potter," added Snape, "if I have any reason to doubt your honesty, I will not be so kind."

"I'll be sure to fill my head with loads of memories with Cho Chang, in that case," replied Harry.

"This is not a subject to joke about, Potter," said Snape. But for a fraction of a second, Harry could have sworn he saw a flicker of a smile appear on the stern man's face.

...

It wasn't that he was particularly depressed, really. His discussion with Snape wasn't fun, but it hadn't been nearly as awful as Harry had been anticipating. He couldn't explain why he was sitting on his bed, a mere twenty minutes after his promise to be good, fiddling with Sirius's mirror. Perhaps it was because he was expected to give the shard to Snape after dinner tomorrow. It had been there for him for months now, always laying in the bottom of his trunk, always promising to be there after a fight with the Dursleys or another painful memory. And after tomorrow, it would be there for him no longer.

It was almost like losing another loved one. Almost.

Like Lily. Snape was absolutely right, it was an insult to her sacrifice to endanger himself. He set the piece of glass back down beside him. Endangering himself was off limits. But what if he wasn't dangrous? What if he was careful?

_Snape will find out._

Not necessarily...

Harry lowered his pajama pants enough to reveal his thighs. Clean and inviting. Untouched, unmarked. And that just wouldn't do.

The actions were more second nature than anything at this point. He hardly gave it a thought as he pressed the shard against his left thigh and dragged it a few inches.

He'd only gone a day, but it felt like ages since he'd had the feeling. And yet, it was incredibly familiar, as if he'd been doing it every hour.

But Harry had never before cut himself without good reason. If he wasn't sad, this wasn't necessary. He had to prove to himself that Snape was wrong, that he could control this just fine. He placed the mirror on the bedspread once again.

_This is only to say goodbye to Sirius's mirror, that's all... like a bachelor party before a wedding. I'll be good after this. Just one last time._

He picked up the glass again without a second thought, and continued to bid Sirius's mirror goodbye.

...

Harry woke up the next morning to find the dormitory completely empty. A quick glance at his watch suggested everyone was at breakfast. He stood up slowly, yawning, and streched his arms out. He heard something drop to the floor. Curious, he glanced down at his feet.

Sirius's mirror. Had he fallen asleep with it? He could have been caught _again._ Shaking his head at his own carelessness, he returned the mirror to the bottom of his trunk.

His pajama bottoms were stained with red. For a split second, Harry almost thought to ask Hermione for a good stain-removing spell.

_Yeah, right..._

He cleaned his leg in the bathroom sink before dressing and heading down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

There was something quite comforting about the hallways during the Christmas holiday. They were generally empty, meaning he did not have to try to avoid anybody, make small talk, or be subjected to the many stares and gasps from first year students who recognized his lightning scar.

He approached the Gryffindor table. Ron and Hermione were sitting across from each other, whispering to one another. Once Hermione had spotted Harry, however, she made a quick motion to Ron, and they both fell silent.

"Keeping secrets now, are you?" Harry asked jokingly, taking the open seat next to Hermione and helping himself to some toast.

"Funny you should mention secrets, mate-"

"_Ron!_" snapped Hermione, who mouthed something along the lines of _no confrontation!_

Harry's eyes shifted from Ron to Hermione and back again. What were they thinking? Had Ron seen his bloody pajama pants earlier? No, surely he would have woken Harry in alarm. Then he remembered Hermione's curious look after Snape and Ron's conversation at their prior breakfast.

"Look, I'm not sure what you two are on about," said Harry, "but I told you, Snape's been on my arse since he caught me sneaking food, I've got detention for eternity-"

"It's not just that, Harry," said Hermione, softly. "You've been so distant lately. We almost never see you anymore, and when we actually do spend time together, you've been very careful to keep the topic of conversation off of you."

"When I talk to you, it's like I'm talking to a brick wall-"

"You haven't been eating as much-"

"You've been staying up late and sleeping all morning-"

"You really just don't look _happy_, you know..."

"So I haven't been talkative lately! Forgive me if I have a lot more on my mind than Quidditch practices and Transfiguration homework!" replied Harry, feeling incredibly defensive.

"We're just _concerned_ about you, Harry! We're your best friends, we only want to make sure you're okay, you know, I mean with... what happened at the end of last year, and all..." said Hermione, her voice sounding less confident than ever. "And I happened to notice how awkward that conversation with Professor Snape had been yesterday, and we were just talking, and- I mean- oh, Harry, is there something you're not telling us?"

"Like what? Like the fact my godfather's _dead_, Hermione? Maybe I just don't like talking about it, okay? And I was just hoping that my _best friends_ would understand that!"

"Lay off it, Harry! She's just trying to help!"

"You want to help me? Try leaving me the hell alone." And with that, Harry stood up and marched out of the Great Hall, leaving behind a teary-eyed Hermione and a very angry Ron.

...

Harry spent the remainder of the day in his dormitory alone, replaying the events of the morning in his head.

It wasn't what he'd wanted to say. Truthfully, he was grateful that his friends cared about him enough to worry. However, given the circumstances, it seemed the best option was to push everybody away from him. He didn't want to tell Ron and Hermione why he was really stuck in "detention" with Snape, and perhaps if they were in a row, it would be easier to avoid telling them the truth.

It wasn't even a question. He couldn't consider burdening his best friends with this. How could he? He knew they would do whatever it took to help him... but after all they'd already done for him, all the times they'd risked their lives for him...

_And this is how I repay them..._

Harry walked over to his trunk to fetch his shard of mirror. He might have used it, too, had he not been dangerously nearing his appointment with Snape. He had not risked dinner; it would have been too painful to see Ron and Hermione. His stomach growled with hunger - the toast had been_ ages_ ago.

Was this what his life would be like at Hogwarts, now? Hiding in his room all day? Skipping meals to avoid seeing his friends? It felt oddly familiar to his summers at Privet Drive.

Harry shook the thought out of his head, grabbed a handful of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans for dinner, and headed towards the dungeons.

...

Harry was greeted at Snape's door by an expecting, outstretched palm. He wasn't sure what Snape had been expecting him to relinquish, but it clearly hadn't been a piece of broken mirror.

"This?"

Harry nodded, but did not elaborate. Snape surveyed the glass for a few seconds before pocketing it and entering the office. Harry followed. They took their usual seats across one another. The awkward tension in the room was overbearing. Harry wasn't sure what was supposed to happen next. Were they going to talk about what happened? Was Snape going to threaten him? Would these meetings become an ongoing awkward ritual?

Was Snape going to find out about his thigh?

Snape did not speak immediately, which was both a blessing and a curse: it meant Harry wasn't being interrogated, but it also extended the uncomfortable silence that made Harry wonder whether or not he should be trying to block his mind. He looked up at Snape, who was tapping his fingers together, but was otherwise still.

"Well, Mr. Potter, it appears you and I have found ourselves in quite the undesirable situation," said Snape finally. Harry nodded slightly, unsure if Snape was actually expecting a response.

"I will assure you that I was not keen on adding 'adolescent psychologist' to my job description, however, as the headmaster has left me with the fortunate task of tending to you in his absence under strict orders of secrecy, it seems I have found myself with an unwanted obligation."

"Sna- _sir_, why did Professor Dumbledore ask you to do this?" asked Harry curiously. Though he despised the idea of talking to_ anyone,_ there had to have been someone better than the man that loathed him at first glance.

"I was the one to give you the potion that night. He doesn't seem to desire anyone else finding out about your _issue._"

"Like who?"

"Like anyone who would benefit from knowledge of your weaknesses."

"You mean Volde-"

_"How many times do I have to tell you-"_

"Like _you-know-who?_" Harry finished quickly.

"The Dark Lord, his followers, the ministry, or your good friends at the Prophet," replied Snape. "He believes it will escalate the problem, or otherwise bring unwanted attention to yourself. But we are not here to discuss Professor Dumbledore's rationalization, Potter. We are here to discuss why you feel the need to lacerate your skin in times of distress."

Harry shifted his leg uncomfortably. He had so far been able to avoid discussing his actions in any sort of depth. They didn't feel like some _issue_ that needed immediate attention. It was personal, a part of his life that he didn't much care to share. And although it hadn't been a question, Harry could tell Snape was waiting for his reply. The response Harry gave, however, was most likely not up to par with Snape's expectation.

"I... well, erm... yeah."

"A telling tale."

Harry tried again. "I... I dunno... I guess I just felt like... well, like I needed something else to focus on, something else to control after- after Sirius."

"Is this the reason you chose to injure yourself last?"

Harry's stomach tightened. Did Snape know about his leg? The panic subsided after Harry noticed Snape's lack of accusing glare. He was referring to the night Harry had come to Snape's office, the night Dumbledore had caught him off guard...

He'd woken up from another nightmare. Reliving the death of his godfather in his dreams had become a frequent torment. Not wanting to wake Ron with his panic, he had left the common room. He should have gone to the bathroom. He should have stayed in the common room. But in a state of sorrow, Harry had forgotten logic. His invisibility cloak seemed safe enough. He should have remembered. Remembered that he had a knack for running into faculty members when exploring the halls after dark. Remembered that Dumbledore could see through invisibility cloaks...

"Potter."

Harry blinked and became aware of his surroundings once more.

"Though your communication is still lacking, I suppose it suffices to say that I have heard more from you tonight than our previous meeting. We shall continue this discussion tomorrow."

Relieved to have been excused from talking, Harry stood up to leave. Just as he'd reached the door, however-

"Reveal your arms."

Right. He rolled up his sleeves steadily, revealing nothing new. He held his breath, waiting for Snape to ask if he'd done it elsewhere. Snape, however, did not inquire further. He merely nodded, but as Harry turned to shut the chamber door behind him, he heard Snape's voice one last time.

"Progress, Potter."

A feeling of guilt came over Harry fleetingly as turned to head back towards Gryffindor tower.


	5. The Solution

**A/N:**  
><strong>I feel that I should warn you that this chapter is a little more graphic, but what's to be expected from a story about self-harm?<strong>

**Some questions answered:**

**- Do I have experience with self harm? Well, the short answer is yes. The long answer would make this extensive author's note even more lengthy, so I'll just stick with the former. A lot of the feelings and actions described are written from memory, slightly adapted to help Harry stay... well, mostly in character. I appreciate the compliment about how my writing is convincing, though! It's really hard to judge your own writing style and descriptive capabilities. XD**

**I also wanted respond to the comment about Harry's cutting being triggered by loss (Cedric and Sirius), except with the case of Harry's mom. I believe you were saying that Lily would be an even worse trigger for Harry, and that Snape shouldn't try to use it as a deterrent for Harry's behavior.**

**I don't really think Snape was trying to manipulate Harry with his comment about Lily at the end a few chapters back. The fact that Harry disregards the sacrifice that Snape's only love gave was enough to break down that emotional barrier. He was upset, reluctant, and disgustingly willing to help this boy he deems an arrogant waste of space. He was upset that Harry wasn't taking his problem or his life very seriously, and it wasn't fair to Lily's memory. As far as the cutting trigger... It doesn't always make sense, and it's very rarely rational. But I will say that Lily is a different issue for Harry than Cedric or Sirius. The fact that Harry believed Voldemort's lies and went to the department of mysteries indirectly led to Sirius's death. Harry offering to share the Triwizard tournament cup with Cedric indrectly led to his death. The memory and comment about Lily reminded Harry that his own mother had paid the ultimate toll for Harry's life, and Harry can't allow it to be in vain. He doesn't really feel responsible for her death the way he does for Sirius and Cedric.**

**Holy royal Hippogriff, Batman! That could have been a chapter all on its own! Well then, on we go!**

**...**

It was hard to get through the remainder of the week without his friends. Time seemed to drag on twice as slowly without the company. Harry spent a majority of his time in his dormitory, absendmindedly flipping through his school books and munching on various wizard sweets for meals. He'd occasionally attempt to survive a dinner in the Great Hall, but Ron's constant glares and Hermione's sobbing were too much to bear.

He missed them. And it didn't help that Snape still had Sirius's mirror. It had been nearly three days since he'd placed the shard in the palm of Snape's hand.

He missed it. He missed the easy escape, the quick release. He missed having a plan for being emotionally distraught. He missed knowing exactly what to do in times of weakness. The automatic response. The solution.

The meetings with Snape weren't entirely helpful. He'd sat through two sessions with his lips glued together, only parting to mutter 'yeah's and 'I guess'es when the times seemed appropriate. Once he'd almost dared himself to ask Snape what the hell he was supposed to replace the cutting with, but that would have required Harry to speak, and these days in Gryffindor tower surrounded by silence were not helping his communication ability one bit.

And worse still, the cuts on his thigh were beginning to heal. Nothing left to stare at when he was feeling particularly needy. Watching them heal felt like the ending of a book that he just wasn't ready to put down.

Hagrid had written Harry twice, but he hadn't bothered opening the letters. He couldn't bring himself to explain why he wasn't with his best friends, or why he was suddenly so absent from most of the school grounds.

So here was Sunday. The first day of the last week of the holiday. And today was no different.

Harry woke to the sound of the door shutting. Clearly, the last of the boys had left the room. He turned to a more comfortable position, but did not open his eyes. It was much nicer keeping them closed, not allowing reality to register through sight. He could pretend that Ron was awake in his bunk, waiting for Harry to rush down to breakfast. He could pretend that he still had Hermione waiting for them in the-

_Creak._

Harry's eyes popped open automatically at the sound of the floorboard.

"H- Hermione?"

Indeed it was. The door wasn't somebody leaving after all.

Hermione Granger stood beside Harry's bed, staring at him with watery eyes. She was still in her nightgown, and it looked as though she hadn't slept very much.

"Ron said I shouldn't bother, but I just... this is just so..."

And Hermione, the most brilliant student at Hogwarts, was at a loss for words. She left her sentence to trail as she flew towards Harry and locked him in a very tight embrace. When she finally released Harry, the water in her eyes was now trailing down her cheeks.

Harry wasn't sure what to say. He wanted to hug her back, to tell her he was sorry, to mend their friendship, but the words would not come.

But Hermione, still the most brilliant student at Hogwarts, could not read minds. She registered Harry's silence for a few moments, and rushed out of the dormitory, her sobbing not quite so silent this time.

He'd hurt her. He'd hurt her worse than he'd hurt her earlier in the week, when he'd told her to mind her own business. She'd come into his room, against Ron's wishes, to try and fix the problem. She'd hugged him, cried for him, and he'd done nothing.

He had to do something.

But what? Go downstairs to breakfast, emotionally unstable and weak? He needed to calm down. He needed to...

Yes.

Perhaps Sirius's mirror was gone, but his coping mechanism was not. Why hadn't he thought of it before? A potions knife? A steak knife? Another piece of mirror?

Harry jumped out of bed and dug through his trunk at top speed. His panic increased as he realized the lack of sharp objects he possessed. He didn't have a potions knife, he'd always borrowed Hermione's. A steak knife resided in the kitchens, but he didn't have time for that right now. And then he felt it.

Plastic, cheap, and perfect. He pulled out the muggle shaving device he'd nicked from Dudley when puberty had finally hit. He'd completely forgotten he'd had it.

He lowered his pajama pants again and quickly slid the triple bladed razor sideways against his leg. Three very thin parallel red lines formed in response.

It was something, but it couldn't compare to the broken mirror.

_Broken._

Harry pulled the plastic handle off of the razor head with ease. He attempted to pry the head apart with his fingernails, but they were not as giving. Frustrated, he bit the sides with his mouth. The plastic split with a gratifying snap. Harry separated the three liberated blades. He chose the cleanest one and drug it across his leg in a quick and thoughtless motion.

The line that formed was indeed red, but not thin at all.

Harry hadn't anticipated the ease of the razor blade. The paper thin sheets of metal were quite different from a large chunk of mirror. Blood pooled on his thigh, threatening to spill onto the floorboards.

_Fuck._

He couldn't ask for another blood replenishing potion, could he? He had to stop the bleeding. He frantically pulled off his pajama bottoms and wrapped the leg of them around his injury, pulling tight to increase the pressure.

Several minutes passed and Harry felt the panic die down as his bleeding slowed, allowing the familiar feeling of relief to overcome him.

Finally.

Sure, he'd cut too deep for the second time, but it wasn't his fault. He just wasn't used to the razor, that was all. He could finally regain control. Maybe even talk. He'd found his solution once again.

And Harry, without giving it a second thought, picked up the thin silver blade and tucked it safely inside his trunk.

...

The makeshift pajama bandage fit uncomfortably in the legs of his black school pants. He could feel himself walking differently to allow the fabric more room.

And yet... he'd felt more confident than he'd felt in days, knowing what was tucked inside of his school trunk. The whole idea of cutting seemed more comforting than it had before he'd been caught. His appreciation for the release grew after he'd been without it for several days. Nobody knew, not even Snape, that he still had it. His secret was still his, and he didn't want to lose it again.

He could start over. He would convince Snape that he was done. He would talk to Ron and Hermione, and explain that he had just been upset for a bit. Because now that he could avoid his problems once more, not a damn thing was in his way. Even lunch in the Great Hall sounded like a good plan. He abandoned his History of Magic book and headed downstairs.

Harry rehearsed his apology speech for his friends on the way, feeling confident that he could pull it off. He'd tell them how sorry he was. He'd explain to Hermione that his silence wasn't meant to be hurtful. He'd-

"Potter."

The silky voice put a halt to his mental rehearsal. Harry froze in his tracks, and felt the confidence he'd had not two seconds earlier drain away. He looked up, expecting his eyes to meet the familiar icy glare. However, Snape's eyes did not meet his; Harry was horrified to see them staring curiously at his bulky, pajama-stuffed pant leg.

"Is there any particular reason you are limping through this hallway like the hunchbacked Igor?"

Where had his voice gone? He'd been so prepared earlier. So ready to face everyone. So ready to lie. But he knew it was useless. What could he possibly say to Snape to convince him that it wasn't what it looked like?

Snape's eyes left Harry's leg and met his eyes. He gripped Harry's arm and pulled him towards his office, leaving all plans for rekindling friendships behind.

...

"Clearly I was foolish to trust you. How long has this been going on?"

"Just the once, sir, I-"

"Show me."

It was probably supposed to feel awkward and uncomfortable, lowering your pants in front of a faculty member, but all Harry felt was shame as he revealed his pajama bandage to Snape. He unwrapped the cloth slowly, careful to keep his gaze on the floor.

Snape did not leave to retreive his medical supplies this time. He performed the summoning charm wordlessly, keeping his eyes on Harry's leg.

"This doesn't appear to be 'just the once', Potter," Snape said, motioning towards the healing cuts Harry had performed days earlier.

"That... I did that before I gave you the mirror, but... but not since then!"

"With the very blatant exception of today."

"I... _yeah_..."

Snape pulled out his wand and muttered healing incantations, holding his hand up to silence Harry's protests. The sting of the injury was quickly replaced with a warm, healing sensation, leaving nothing but a pink patch of skin behind.

"We have played by your rules, Harry, and clearly they have not been adequate. I will no longer stand for 'natural' healing, your privacy, nor the silent meetings we've had this past week."

Snape's unfamiliar usage of his first name had not gone unnoticed, but Harry did not mention it. He nodded slowly, staring woefully at his clean, uninjured thigh. Snape motioned for Harry to redress himself, and returned to his usual position behind the desk.

"Where have you been all week, apart from your visits with me?" Snape asked calmly.

Harry remained silent, trying to recall the potions pattern he'd known so well during their first meeting.

"Where have you been all week?" Snape repeated sternly. "You may relay this information to me verbally, or I shall discover using other methods."

Harry could speak, or be subject to legilimency. He opted for the former.

"I've been in Gryffindor tower," he admitted honestly.

"By yourself? During meals?"

Harry nodded.

"Have your friends not noticed your lack of socialization?"

"We're not speaking at the moment."

"Ah," said Snape. "Definitely an opportune time to be quarreling with your companions."

"I didn't want to tell them what was wrong, I just... they'd be too worried," said Harry quietly.

"And I take it they are showing absolutely no indication of worry at the moment?"

"Well..."

"I see," said Snape. He paused for a moment, a look of consideration on his face. "I fail to see any value in allowing you to waste away in that dormitory of yours, immersing in isolation and self pity. Clearly I cannot trust you with yourself."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"I disagree. And as you feel unable to discuss this with your friends, I will not allow you to return to Gryffindor tower," said Snape.

"You can't-"

"You will stay here."

"What? For how long?" Harry exclaimed.

"For as long as it takes, Potter! What will come of you returning to your dormitory, spending days and nights unsupervised and distraught? Do you sincerely believe it will aid in your recovery?" replied Snape, leaving his calm tone behind. "You were not able to admit it a few nights prior, but can you now see that this is beyond your control?"

"I just wasn't used to the razor, I-"

"You used a razor blade? A muggle one? And you were able to create such an injury?"

"Well, I had to... had to break it first, but-"

"And how did you manage that?"

Silence fell over them once again. Harry hadn't given it much thought before, but the action seemed utterly desperate when admitted out loud: "...I... with my teeth."

"So you disassembled a muggle shaving tool with your mouth in a reckless effort to slash your leg," summarized Snape, the calm returning to his voice. "How very in control you seem, Potter."

Harry bowed his head shamefully. "I'll just go and get my stuff, then."

"You will not. I don't anticipate any good coming out of you returning to your dormitory just now."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"I believe you were on your way to lunch before I intercepted you," said Snape. He waved his wand lazily, and a tray of sandwiches appeared before Harry. Another casual flick conjured a goblet of water. "I want you to eat, Potter, rehydrate, and then we will see to your trunk."

...

Harry's untidy trunk sat between himself and Snape, open and revealing. Snape was removing wrinkled articles of clothing, a look of disgust on his face. "I should hope that my quarters do not resemble your trunk after your stay," he muttered, dropping a dirty sock into Harry's lap. He continued inspecting the contents, removing sharp objects. Various quills and broken vials had been deemed unfit for Harry's possession, and were placed in a neat pile on Snape's desk. Harry hastily grabbed some of the clothes and began folding.

It took Snape quite a bit of time to dig through Harry's clutter and retreive the tiny blade, but Harry hadn't expected him to miss it; Snape's examination of his trunk contents had been quite thorough. Snape held the blade in his fingers and inspected it for a few moments before placing it on his desk with the rest of the confiscated items. After the remainder of Harry's trunk had been searched, Snape began collecting various objects around his office, adding a few more quills and some potions knives to the pile. He pointed his wand at the collection and uttered a few incomprehensible words. The pile vanished.

"It should be noted that I don't expect a full confiscation to fix you. Regardless, I don't see the profit in leaving these items in your reach."

Harry couldn't argue with Snape's explanation. It made sense, however bothersome it might have been. Watching the pile vanish had made Harry's stomach clench; all of the power and relief he'd felt that morning was now completely gone. He had nothing but his fingernails left, and Harry suspected Snape would vanquish those too if given good reason.

"I have an appointment to attend. I will return in a few hours' time. I trust you will not leave this office in my absence. If I should find out otherwise-"

"I'll stay, sir," promised Harry. It wasn't as though he had anywhere inviting to go, anyway. His plans to talk to Ron and Hermione felt distant and stupid now.

"Very well, Potter. Do not betray my trust again. We will discuss your actions later. I expect a more prolific conversation after dinner." With that, he walked out, leaving Harry alone and determined.

The silverware drawers had been emptied. The bathroom cabinets barren. Harry cursed Snape's meticulousness as he returned to the office, his search through Snape's living quarters fruitless. He didn't even want to cut, really. He just wanted to know something was there, just in case he needed it. For a second, he thought of leaving, but decided it probably wasn't the best option, given the circumstances.

He slumped into Snape's desk chair, defeated. He felt helpless. Locked up, punished, and stuck.

Harry gave Snape's desk drawers one last pitiful attempt, finding nothing of value. Feeling discouraged, he reached the bottom cabinet and pulled. The door did not budge.

_Locked?_

Interested sparked up in Harry like a lightning bolt. He attempted to pry the door open. Could Sirius's mirror be inside? But it was no use. The cabinet was sturdy, and the lock remained.

Unless...

There was no way. But, for a lack of anything better to do, Harry grabbed his wand and pointed it optimistically at the door.

_Alohamora!_

The door sprang open as suddenly as if a boggart had been trying to escape. Feeling victorious, Harry reached inside and pulled out its only contents.

The bottle was dusty, but certainly full. The label gleamed in the tiny bit of light in Snape's office.

_Firewhiskey._

_..._

**A/N: I apologize about the little bit of OOCness with Snape. But given that the whole story would probably only take place OOC, and the fact that he's pretty much been cold and icy to Harry for a good while now, I feel I deserve a tiny bit of leeway. XD**

**To those that were looking forward to a Snape POV chapter, your wish might just come true next update! :D**


	6. Almost Like Veritaserum

**A/N:**  
><strong>I will no longer use author's notes to justify my writing. I will no longer use author's notes to justify my writing. I will no longer use-<strong>

**Damn your methods, Umbridge! *rubs hands angrily***

**Senior year of college is getting busier, exams are eating my soul... so naturally, I will procrastinate via FFN! Yay!**

**Also: I HAVE VIP TICKETS TO THE STARKID SHOW. I hope some of you are going!**

**Hope the school year is treating you better. If you're reading this fic instead of studying, for shame! /hypocrite.**

**...**

"Has he shown any improvement under your care, Severus?"

Snape winced at the word 'care'. Yes, he had taken the boy in. Yes, he had healed his injuries and tolerated his insufferable stubbornness for the past week. Still, hearing his actions defined as 'care' gave him an uncomfortable feeling. He was merely acting under orders, wasn't he? 'Care' seemed too bright a word.

"Potter has been concealing his emotions from me. He refuses to discuss his actions... in addition, he has been continually injuring himself in secrecy," said Snape.

"Secrecy, Severus? You mean to tell me that your proficiency in Legilimency has been outmatched by Harry?"

"Certainly not, Albus," interjected Snape, a hint of insult in his voice. "Potter couldn't occlude against a pygmy puff."

"And yet..."

"I allowed him some privacy under strict orders not to betray my trust. I will not be making that mistake again," responded Snape bitterly.

"How very unlike you, Severus. Putting your trust Harry, respecting his wishes. Perhaps he has had a bigger impact on you than you thought!"

Snape opened his mouth to respond, but Dumbledore held up his hand to stop him. Snape bit his tongue angrily. Albus loved to do this, to taunt him with the idea that he and Harry had more in common than he thought, to insinuate that he and Harry were destined to set aside their differences and become the most noble of comrades. But five years had passed since he'd had the pleasure of acquainting himself with Harry in his first potions lesson, and the list of differences had grown too long to be set aside in disregard.

Arrogant, stubborn, and disgustingly heroic, Harry was the spitting image of his dreadful father. Snape would have found a better friend in Colin Creevey.

Though he had to admit, James would not have chosen such an unorthodox coping mechanism.

"I regret to say that my visit is only just," began Dumbledore. "I believe I have discovered something crucial to our fight against Lord Voldemort. I will be leaving the castle again very shortly. I merely wanted to ensure your continued care for the boy in my absence. It is of the utmost importance he recovers."

Albus always tended to use 'the boy' in lieu of Harry's name when discussing the Dark Lord. It hadn't been something gone unnoticed in Snape's history with Dumbledore, but it also hadn't bothered him before now. Sure, it was one of Snape's favorite ways to refer to Harry, but Dumbledore had always given an impression of caring and trustworthiness. Potter was obviously distraught. How would he take to learning that he was a pawn in a war, a mere tool? That his recovery was not to aide himself, but to fulfill his purpose against the Dark Lord, his prophecy?

He would probably take it valiantly. Potter, the hero. Potter, always glad to do whatever Dumbledore asked of him with little questioning. Always glad to protect the world from evil, but never willing to protect himself.

It angered Severus, but he couldn't quite pinpoint the reason.

"Where is Harry now?"

"I have placed him in my quarters for the remainder of the holiday. He has not shown a desirable amount of self-control on his own."

"Very good decision, Severus. I should hope to find you both still alive when I return."

"Any indication of your whereabouts this time, Headmaster?" asked Snape, standing up to leave.

"All will be discussed in due time, my friend! I suspect I will return before the term resumes."

Vague, as always. Snape bid Dumbledore a halfhearted farewell before making his way down the gargoyle staircase.

...

Snape wasn't entirely sure he expected to see Harry sitting obediently in his office upon his return. He hesitated before opening the door to his own quarters, anticipating an empty room - or worse - a bloody Potter.

The open door revealed neither, however. Harry was laying back in his couch-made-bed, staring wordlessly at the ceiling. Snape glanced around the room. Silverware drawers were open, cabinets were cracked... Harry had been looking. Snape praised himself silently on his thorough cleanse of the room, but couldn't deny his disappointment that the actions had been necessary. He'd probably been gone an hour - could the boy not control himself for such a short time?

"I see you have discovered the lack of sharp objects residing in my office. I admit I am surprised you are still here."

Harry didn't respond. In fact, he had hardly shown any indication that he was aware of Snape's presence at all. He continued to burn holes in the ceiling with his eyes.

Snape took the seat across from Harry, mentally preparing himself for the conversation he was sure Harry was just as reluctant to participate in. How to counsel a child he'd never been able to find civility with? Harder still, how to help him communicate?

"I am well aware of your disinclination to confide in me, Potter. But I assure you that our silent company will be far more awkward and uncomfortable."

"Either way sucks," said Harry quietly, speaking for the first time. Snape raised an eyebrow. They sat in silence for a few moments.

"We shall start simple, then," began Snape, regretting his promise to attempt a conversation before bed. He could have waited until morning, but it had been put off for far too long. "May I ask why you chose to follow my orders and stay here, rather than search for a replacement tool elsewhere?"

"'Cause either way sucks that way, too," Harry mumbled. Snape eyed Harry suspiciously.

"Care to elaborate, Potter?"

"You would just find that and take it away like you take everything away, because y'don't care about making me feel better, you just wanna watch me suffer without my release, that's what you want, and I bet you enjoy it, too, and that's why y'won't send me to Dumbledore, 'cause you like seeing me weak like this, 'cause it makes you feel better, doesn't it, and I'm not s-stupid, and I can see right through you!"

Harry rolled over on the couch to face the wall. Snape sighed quietly, observing the sloppy boy before him.

"You're drunk."

"'Least you aren't falsely accusing me this time."

"That hardly makes this permissible." Snape reached into his bottom cabinet and pulled out the noticeably emptier liquor bottle. "Merlin, Potter, are you capable of doing _anything_ in moderation?"

"Potions homework."

Had it not been uttered by a drunken and burdensome Harry Potter, Snape might have smiled. Laughed, even. But he would not humor the boy. His behavior could not be tolerated. Yet, despite the scenario, Snape wasn't angry. Annoyed, perhaps, that Potter had the nerve to self-medicate with stolen Firewhiskey, but not angry. There was more on Snape's mind than his lost liquor.

"Your actions tonight suggest there is more to your problem than our previous conversations," said Snape, vanishing the Firewhiskey in the same manner as the pile of sharp objects.

"Mmm."

"That you don't just have an obsession with mutilating your skin."

Harry sat up to face Snape once more, keeping his arm against the couch to steady his posture. "It's not like I'm a fucking alcoholic! Stop over analyzing everything like you know me, 'cause you don't!"

"Why did you decide to drink yourself into oblivion in my absence?"

"I was pissed off!"

"Why were you upset?"

"You're making me stay me here!"

"Had I forgotten a knife, would I have returned to find you sober and bleeding, Potter?"

There was silence as Harry considered the question. "I don't... I wasn't really planning on using anything if I found it, I just wanted to know it was there... just in case..."

"So what happened when you discovered there was nothing left?"

"I-I found your Firewhiskey."

The alcohol was almost as good as Veritaserum. Harry's anger and frustration had drained from his face; his arms now crossed in his lap. Though he still didn't seem able to make eye contact, he appeared less reserved than usual.

"You found my Firewhiskey," echoed Snape, attempting to keep his angry retorts to a minimum. It appeared to be his first opportunity at hearing Harry speak freely and honestly, and he didn't want to waste it. To Snape's surprise, Harry continued.

"It was like... frustrating and relieving at the same time, you know? Like, I don't have what I want, but I have something..." Harry's words trailed. He seemed uncertain of how to continue.

"You didn't have an object to hurt yourself with. But you felt you needed to do _something?_"

"I... I guess so, yeah..."

"So you essentially replaced your self-mutilation with excessive alcohol."

"I'd rather have a razor blade," muttered Harry. His words didn't seem to be directed at Snape, however. Perhaps it was more of a drunken self-analysis.

"How you rank your poor coping mechanisms is irrelevant. What _is _relevant is the fact that you have proven yourself incapable of dealing with negative experiences in a healthy manner. Why do you feel you always need to _do_ something while upset?"

"Because... I don't know. Because it's something that I _can_ do, you know? Like I can't do anything else, like... I can't bring anybody back to life, I can't go back and fix everything, I can't change anything... and it's just really frustrating to know that there's nothing I can do. But there's stuff I can do, still, you know? Like cut. Or ... or drink, I guess," admitted Harry.

His slurred ramblings were poorly constructed, yet slightly logical.

Snape understood his reasoning.

It had been so long ago, but the feelings were still there, still hanging over him like a boulder threatening to release at any moment. What if he hadn't gone to Dumbledore? Would he be a sodding mess like Potter, destroying himself with anything he could get his hands on? The guilt was immensely overpowering, but he wasn't carving lines into his arms. The boy wanted to _do_ something? Perhaps he could suggest Harry submit his will to Albus, to turn to a life of hidden loyalties, constant anger, and vengeance.

But Harry had that purpose already, didn't he? He'd been fighting off the Dark Lord since his arrival at Hogwarts, had made a conscious promise to do whatever it took to defeat him. And yet here he was, intoxicated and injured, still unable to direct his emotional suffering anywhere productive.

Maybe it was a teenaged adolescent thing. He hadn't matured enough to understand the proper way to deal with pain.

But had Severus really found a better way? He wasn't using physical coping mechanisms, no, but he wasn't necessarily facing his emotions, either. He'd put his focus into destroying the enemy, but he hadn't made peace with the loss of Lily... tormenting students, pushing everyone away... holding a slightly unjustified grudge toward Harry...

He felt empty.

_**No.  
><strong>_

This wasn't about him. This was about Potter. Arrogant, rude,_ insolent _Potter. Harry Potter, the boy who lived, not appreciating his fortune, not appreciating what had taken place to ensure his survival...

Potter needed fixing.

Potter, who was gripping his stomach in an unusual manner, his face appearing greener than usual...

"Toilet, Potter! The toilet! If you choose to vomit on my furniture, so help me..." Snape stood up and pulled Harry to his feet, directing him toward the bathroom. Harry stumbled clumsily to the door, barely opening it in time to rush to the toilet and violently empty his stomach contents.

Snape turned away from the sight in disgust, returning to his chair to await Harry's return. It was several minutes before he heard the sound of the flushing toilet and the awkward footsteps approaching him.

"I don't... s-suppose you could give me a potion to-"

"And leave you without consequence? No, Harry, I don't suppose I could," said Snape, a hint of smugness in his voice. "The only thing I will provide you to drink is water, and you would do well to finish it entirely." He conjured a larger goblet than usual, and offered Harry a cloth napkin for his face.

Harry sighed dramatically and flopped back on the couch. He grabbed the goblet and drank deeply from it. Once he was finished, he placed it on the floor next to him and laid on his back, keeping his arms on his stomach.

"I feel like shit."

"I'm not surprised."

"It was supposed to make me feel better," said Harry quietly.

"Perhaps you should commit this experience to memory."

"Supposing I have that in the morning..."

"I don't plan on allowing you to forget," replied Snape. "I suggest you get some sleep. You aren't likely to feel extraordinary in the morning, and a lack of rest will not improve matters." He stood up and walked towards his bedroom.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Potter?"

"Thanks for... thanks..."

"Good night, Potter." He disappeared into his room, allowing Harry some privacy to change into his pajamas.


	7. Trust and Confidence

**A/N: love.**

The morning was awful.

Or was it the afternoon?

Harry pulled the blankets over his head in a feeble attempt to shield himself from sound and light. His head throbbed fiercely, and his stomach felt like he'd been eating nothing but Hagrid's cooking for days. He rolled over on his back to relieve some pressure from his stomach. Harry longed to stay there all day; his body felt unwilling to remove itself from the warmth of the bed. And a noble plan it might have been, were his bladder not filled to bursting.

He sat up slowly and clumsily, his eyes so narrow they appeared closed. He smacked his hand against the side table in search of his glasses, but couldn't seem to locate them.

"Shit," he groaned.

And his glasses magically appeared in his hand. He shoved them on his face sloppily, and the room began to sharpen. Professor Snape stood before him.

Harry realized he'd probably been the one to hand him his glasses. It was becoming more and more awkward, accepting help from Snape. It was sort of nice to have somebody know and understand his secret, but the years of hatred he'd been building for the potions master was not easy to forget.

Hatred. Or was he just using it to mask his embarrassment?

"I see you've finally gained consciousness. I almost contacted Poppy."

"Oh, she's back, is she?" replied Harry. He had attempted to come off politely, but the pains in his head and stomach were interfering with his voice.

"Just this morning."

"Well, at least I won't have to bother you next time I'm bleeding to death," suggested Harry, rather darkly.

"Correct, as you should no longer find yourself in such a situation," came Snape's retort, quick and smart as ever. Harry shot him an annoyed look before making his way to the bathroom to relieve himself.

He returned to find his bedding had vanished. He groaned loudly before tossing himself on the empty couch, attempting to pull his night robes over his head for warmth.

"It's nearly three in the afternoon, Potter. I've been kind enough."

"One more hour."

"No."

"Half an hour?"

"No."

"Five minutes..."

"Quit being childish. Sit up."

Harry rolled over and narrowed his eyes at Snape, who was standing across from him with his arms folded. "I don't feel good."

"Of course you don't feel well, Potter, you nearly drained the bottle last night. Now sit up. Unless you'd rather not take this potion..." Snape dangled the tiny bottle delicately from his fingertips before clasping it back in his palm threateningly.

_Seriously?_

"I thought you said you weren't going to give me that," said Harry, disbelievingly.

"Keep testing me, Potter."

"I- okay, yeah, I'll sit up..." Harry shifted himself upright, holding his stomach. He reached for the vial of relief clutched in Snape's hand, but Snape pulled it back.

"You will not steal any more of my possessions."

"Yes, sir."

"I will not return to my chamber again to find you so ridiculously inebriated."

_"Yes, sir."_

"Very well." Snape handed the potion to Harry, who eagerly finished it in one gulp.

Harry's headache vanished. He felt the churning in his stomach come to a halt, and his mouth was no longer dry. A warm, comforting sensation coursed through his veins. It was as if he'd just woken up from an incredible nap... a sort of long, soothing, and healing slumber.

"Feel better?"

"Brilliant!" exclaimed Harry, feeling too bright to shield his happiness. "Erm... thank you, sir."

"Should I find you like that again, you will not be so lucky," warned Snape. "And no need for gratitude just yet. I have given you a restoration potion because I don't believe we have the luxury of a wasted day to illness. As I have been so generous to rid you of your terrible hangover, I expect you to use the remainder of the day to return the favor."

"You want me to cure _your_ terrible hangover?"

"Don't be stupid, boy."

"Then-"

"I want you to go back to Gryffindor tower," began Snape, pausing shortly. He wanted until Harry's eyes met his before continuing. "I want you to go to Gryffindor tower and tell your companions the truth."

...

The only sounds from Snape's office came from the bubbling potions on the shelves. Harry glared at Snape's blank face, recalling all of the anger he held for his potions professor.

No. He wouldn't do it.

He would not.

So many days had gone by, and Harry had never fully appreciated how well his secret had been kept safely in Snape's dungeon. He couldn't bring himself to reveal his darker side to his friends. Sure, they weren't exactly happy with Harry at the moment, but any excuse for their quarrel would be better than honesty.

Wouldn't it?

Could he continue lying to his best mates, even if he got better? Ron and Hermione had always been honest with Harry, at least when it counted. He knew he would be furious if either one of them held such a secret from him, but still...

"I realize you might not think too fondly of the idea, but-"

"You're damn RIGHT I don't think too fondly of the idea! This is stupid, what the hell are you trying to pull?" interrupted Harry, his voice raised. "I... I'm not doing this, I don't care. I'll vomit up the potion if you want."

"You're more than welcome to, but the effects will remain," replied Snape calmly. "And I wasn't asking for your permission. You _will_ do this."

"And _why_ should I do this? So you can sit and watch me admit my weaknesses to _everybody_?"

"Potter, you can keep up with that tired argument, but it will get you nowhere. And I will not 'sit and watch' you do anything, as I find you perfectly capable of doing this on your own."

"You really think you can trust me to do that?" asked Harry angrily.

"It won't be very difficult to figure out if you've lied," responded Snape, and Harry scowled. The familiar silence invaded the room once more. Harry scratched his arm absentmindedly, biting his lip to keep from shouting. Snape glanced at the red marks Harry was forming with his fingernails.

"Stop."

"Why?" blurted Harry, his built up frustration resonating loudly against the chamber walls.

"You're going to draw blood-"

"NO! I mean WHY are you making me tell them?" shouted Harry, but he dropped his hand just the same.

"The winter holiday is coming to an end. I will not be able to monitor you as closely once the term begins. In addition, I believe it will be beneficial for you to have somebody to confide in."

"I have been confiding in YOU! I don't even LIKE you, but I've been talking to you, haven't I? I _trusted_ you, I let you know my secret-"

"Your _secret_ wasn't TOLD to me, Potter, it was dripping down your arm that night you were forced to ask me for help! You falsely believe you have sufficiently confided in me only because you have yet to reveal anything important about yourself to anybody else. The most I have heard from you came out with Firewhiskey breath! You do _not_ trust me, Potter, and though I won't deny the feeling is reciprocated, you need to talk to _somebody!_"

"I'll start talking! What the hell do you want to know? You don't care about me, anyway, so I don't see why-"

"-why you shouldn't talk to somebody you are certain cares about you?" finished Snape, the calm returning to his voice.

Rather than argue back, Harry stared at his knees. He didn't know what to say to that. He understood what Snape meant, but logic wasn't the only thing deterring him from confiding in his friends.

"I just... I don't think I can... bring myself to tell them, sir," admitted Harry, his feelings of defeat evident in his tone.

"What do you fear will come of it?" asked Snape curiously.

"They'll worry too much. And Hermione will probably cry. And..."

"And?"

"...and they won't think I'm a hero anymore," Harry finished weakly. "They'll think I'm stupid. They'll know I'm a mess."

The feeling had been suppressed for too long, and Harry wasn't even sure it was there until he'd said it. How awful it was to crash down off that pedestal, believing he was somehow above the fear of losing his pride in front of his closest friends. He bowed his head shamefully, his arms limp against his sides. He knew what Snape would say. Arrogant, self-absorbed boy, obsessed with his image, just like his father. He closed his eyes and waited for the words to come.

"It will take a lot more than honesty to destroy the disgustingly heroic picture your friends have painted of you, Potter," said Snape. They were not the words Harry had been expecting at all. He looked up, shocked. "I would be surprised if they don't find this makes you somehow _more_ heroic, keeping all your pain bottled up. It's sickening."

Snape's familiar icy insults were surprisingly comforting. Harry's panic subsided, if only just. He smiled for a moment, before realizing how unfamiliar the lack of tension in the room was.

"So does this mean you're letting me move back?" he asked, changing the subject quickly.

"Absolutely not. Now please shower before your visit. You smell like Hagrid."

...

Harry took the scenic route to Gryffindor tower. He trekked on through unfamiliar hallways, begging to become disoriented. Unfortunately, he had studied the Maurader's Map for far too long to find himself truly lost, and kept ending up back on the right path. Once an hour had passed and he'd successfully counted all of the staircase portraits, he approached the Fat Lady reluctantly, hoping with all his might he wouldn't be allowed in.

"I haven't seen YOU in a while!" she exclaimed, raising her eyebrow suspiciously.

"Has the password been changed?" asked Harry hopefully.

"Of course it has. And I won't allow you in without it!"

Harry's sigh of relief kept her suspicious look in tact. He gazed at the wall in an attempt to avoid eye contact. "I suppose I'll just be going, then-"

"Harry!"

The voice returned all the panic the Fat Lady's denial had diminished. Harry turned around to face Neville, who was grinning cheerfully at him.

"Forgot the password, eh, Harry? It's Foetida Troglodytarum!" said Neville, seemingly proud he could remember it himself. To Harry's strong dismay, the portrait swung forward to allow them entry.

"Thanks, Neville," muttered Harry insincerely as they made their way to the common room.

Hermione and Ron sat by the fireplace, pretending not to notice Harry's entrance. He wasn't sure if it made the situation better or worse. Maybe he could return to Snape's office and say they wouldn't speak to him. It wouldn't be a complete lie, would it?

No. Snape wouldn't buy that.

Whatever his choice, he would have to decide soon. He was beginning to feel quite silly standing in the middle of the common room, staring at nothing in particular. It wasn't until Neville attempted to spark up a conversation about Herbology that Harry excused himself and approached the fireplace.

Ron didn't acknowledge Harry's presence until he was practically breathing down his neck. He turned around and looked at Harry as though he were a random first year.

"I see you're back," he muttered without a hint of emotion.

"Yeah," replied Harry. Silence came after that, but quite unlike the silence in Snape's office. There, silence was met with eye contact and expectation of response. Here, silence meant they were done. Ron turned back around to face Hermione and began talking rather loudly about Hogsmeade.

Harry stood behind Ron's back and attempted to meet Hermione's gaze. If she noticed his staring, she didn't show it; her eyes were set on Ron, and she was nodding enthusiastically at his description of Fred and George's new product line.

Harry subtly scratched at his arms, wanting so much to run up to the dormitory and find something sharp. He had been gone for how long? And they didn't even pretend to be curious as to where? He felt his shame replaced by anger; had Hermione or Ron been missing from the tower, he would certainly drop this foolish argument to find out why. Were they really that angry? So angry that they couldn't be supportive when he needed it the most?

He couldn't stand there any longer. He felt the adrenaline rush as he stormed up the staircase and slammed the door behind him. There were a few more trunks than before, as students were beginning to return from their holiday. He approached Seamus's first, recalling his admission that his dad was a muggle. Sure enough, it contained a few razors.

Just as he'd done before, Harry bit into a razor head forcibly, releasing the three blades. He picked one up without a thought and hovered it above his arm.

He paused for a moment, blade stationary, and gazed at the broken bits of plastic in front of him. Snape was right. He was out of control. He dropped the blade and let it fall to the floor, leaving his skin untouched. He didn't need to do this.

He needed to talk.

Harry picked up the pieces of the razor and threw them in the rubbish bin, careful to hide them under a few chocolate frog wrappers to avoid suspicion from Dobby. He splashed some water on his face before braving the common room once more.

Hermione and Ron remained in the same position, though their conversation appeared less cheerful. When they noticed Harry creeping down the stairs, they stopped talking completely, and instead looked down in silence. Mustering what little confidence he had left, Harry approached his friends.

"I need to talk to you guys about something," said Harry, in the same serious voice he'd used so many times before when sharing news of Voldemort. "In private."

They stared at Harry blankly for a moment. Hermione was the first to stand. Harry turned around and motioned her up to the dormitory, not even waiting to see if Ron would follow.

Harry took the steps two at a time. Though he was not looking forward to the conversation about to take place, he wanted so badly to get it over with. He heard Hermione's footsteps rushing to keep up, and a slower, steadier pace behind her.

So Ron had decided to come. The more the merrier, Harry thought grimly. He opened the door to the boy's dormitory and waited for his friends to catch up. Once Ron had finally made it, he shut the door behind him and climbed up to his bunk, sitting on the edge and letting his feet dangle.

He was hoping they'd interrogate him, that they'd help prompt him, but they didn't speak a word. Hermione was staring at him worriedly, and Ron was staring at Dean's West Ham poster across the room. Harry sighed. No such luck.

"So... I mean... I guess I needed to... erm... tell you guys what's been going on," began Harry. "...why I've been so distant."

"You guessed right," muttered Ron, who continued to stare intently at the muggle Football poster.

"Right. Well..."

"Well?" It was Hermione's voice this time, but she didn't seem angry. It was more of a mix of impatient worry.

"I... I've had some difficulty dealing with... _things_, lately. And... I didn't want to tell you guys because... I didn't want you to worry..."

"That's nothing new, mate," said Ron, ungluing his eyes from the poster. "That doesn't give you the right to treat Hermione that way."

"I didn't treat Hermione-"

"She tried to hug you and you pushed her off!"

"That's not what happened!"

"May as well have been. She was crying for hours," said Ron quietly. Hermione's eyes began to water.

"Look, I don't want to argue... that's not why I came here..."

"You just came to make Hermione cry again?"

"Ronald, stop it!" shouted Hermione, wiping her eyes.

Harry turned around to face Ron completely. "I came here to..." he began, but he couldn't find the words. "I came here to show you... show you this."

Harry looked away from Ron as he rolled up the sleeve to his robe.


	8. Friendships

**A/N: I'm still alive! It's been a busy, busy month, full of concerts, vacations, exams, and Avatar: The Last Airbender. Please forgive my late update!**

**I wrote this chapter over and over again. I'm not entirely happy with it, but it was a difficult one to write. It's a conclusion of sorts, an end to the winter holiday. Stay tuned for the start of next term. Will Harry be a good little wizard? Will Snape and Harry's budding friendship handle potions lessons? WILL THERE BE SNARRY?**

**...no, there will not be Snarry.**

**But there will be Butterbeer!**

**Thanks for sticking with me, companions. Harry's journey remains my own, and I'm happy to have you all with me:D**

**edit/ Just to clarify (since I had questions about it), there is no hiatus (you guys have had one hell of a hiatus already, haha), nor is this the end. Chapters will begin as usual, but think of them as sort of a "Part 2", the beginning of second term. I have most of the plot written for part 2(ish), so don't worry, the drama doesn't stop here! See you guys after Thanksgiving:)**

* * *

><p>Harry kept his eyes shut.<p>

He didn't need to look to know what his friends were seeing. He had every scar memorized, every line, like the secret passageways on the Marauder's Map. He didn't need to look to know that Hermione's eyes were probably tearing up, and that Ron's face would be etched with confusion.

He didn't need to look... and he didn't want to.

It wasn't until he felt Hermione's soft palms around his forearm that he dared open his eyes once more. His assumptions were correct; Hermione's eyes were wet with sadness as she turned his arm slowly and gently, staring knowingly at each and every apparant line. Harry looked down at his feet. He had been prepared for the confusion and hurt, but not the shame.

"How long?" asked Hermione quietly. Harry kept his eyes glued to the floor.

"Since the summer."

"Summer? You've been... you've been doing this all term and we didn't... we haven't... oh, Harry..." Hermione trailed, dropping his arm and embracing him tightly. Harry, prepared this time, allowed himself to return the hug.

"What are you talking about? What the hell happened to your arm, Harry?" asked Ron, speaking up for the first time. "What do you mean he's been 'doing this al-'"

Ron's sentence stopped abruptly as realization hit. His eyes widened and the color drained from his face. As Hermione released Harry, Ron slid off the bunk and approached them slowly. His eyes darted awkwardly from Harry's arm to his face, his jaw locked open in shock.

"Why wouldn't you tell us about this, Harry? We would have been there for you! Don't you know how much we care about you?" exclaimed Hermione. It was hard to tell whether she was asking or accusing.

"I'm really sorry, Hermione, I just couldn't..."

"I understand if you felt you couldn't talk to us about this, I just wish we could've been there for you," said Hermione quietly. She looked hurt and slightly offended.

The feelings of guilt were overwhelming. He took Hermione's hands in his. "I'm so sorry I kept this from you. I trust you guys more than anything, I just wasn't ready to talk about it yet. I hope you can understand that," he said softly.

Hermione's expression softened slightly. "Of course we can. I'm sorry, that came out all wrong. I'm glad you told us."

Harry gave her a slight smile.

"I-I don't understand," Ron said finally. "Why would you..."

"I think you two have a bit of talking to do. I'm going to go... change," said Hermione, her voice breaking slightly. She approached the door slowly, taking time to wipe her eyes accordingly. "Harry, please be safe," she added in a weak voice before exiting.

"What's her deal?" asked Ron, his voice dripping with false confidence.

"I don't think she wanted to break down in front of us," responded Harry, staring at the door she'd just shut. He tried to repress the immense amount of guilt flooding through his thoughts. Though he was slightly upset that she'd left so abruptly, he knew he could have a reasonable conversation with Hermione later. Hermione, distraught as she was, could never miss an opportunity to be clever. She'd left so that Ron and Harry could talk alone.

Hermione must have known that Ron would be less likely to understand. Harry wasn't even sure if this was an existing issue in the wizarding world at all. And, of course, she'd been right. The look on Ron's face as he tried to avoid staring at Harry's arm was full of confusion. They sat in silence for a moment as Harry contemplated a conversation starter, but he was saved this initiative as Ron finally spoke up.

"So... so you did this to yourself," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "On purpose?"

Harry nodded. Ron's eyes flickered to Harry's exposed arm.

In all of Harry's history with Ron, he had never seen him this shocked. Not when Harry had told him the tale of facing Voldemort for the first time, not when he'd seen Sirius Black in the Shreiking Shack, not even when Voldemort had officially returned after the Triwizard Tournament...

But, then again, this was something different entirely.

"Why would you do that to yourself?"

The question had come more confidently than it had the first time. Harry was starting to become used to this question, but it didn't make answering any easier. He allowed himself to collect his thoughts before answering.

"It kind of helped me control my emotion. It was a way of dealing with everything that allowed me to keep functioning normally."

"That doesn't look normal to me," objected Ron, his eyes no longer subtle as he stared openly at Harry's scars.

Harry wasn't exactly sure how to respond to this, so he brought down the sleeve of his robe instead, leaving Ron with nothing to stare at. He looked at Harry.

"So you aren't going to keep doing this, right? I mean, you can't keep doing this..."

"I know, Ron, and Snape's been trying to-"

"SNAPE?"

"I know it sounds crazy-"

"It sounds bloody insane, it does! That's why you guys have been so weird lately, isn't it? That's where you've been! He's punishing you for this, he's locking you up-"

"He's HELPING me, Ron," interjected Harry, suddenly feeling incredibly defensive of his potions professor. Earlier, he might have agreed with Ron's accusation. Locked up, punished... and he couldn't blame Ron for thinking that way. But something had made him trust the man recently. Perhaps it was because of the hangover potion. Or perhaps it was because right now, Harry felt he'd rather be talking to Snape about this than anyone else.

"You trust him? After everything he's done, the damn git... you're talking to HIM, of all people..."

And suddenly, Harry understood. Ron was jealous. Upset that he'd been confiding in the enemy, upset that he hadn't come to his best friends first. And he couldn't argue with that. After all, had the situation been reversed, Harry was sure he'd react similarly. Still, he desperately wanted Ron to understand that Snape was no longer the enemy. That Snape had brought him to do something he hadn't thought possible... to talk. And that was a feat that not even Dumbledore himself could have acheived.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you guys. I really am. But honestly, I wasn't ready to tell anybody. Snape's been helping me talk about it more. I didn't even want to talk to him at first, but I was kind of forced to..."

And then Harry couldn't stop. He'd been hiding from his friends for so long, he'd almost forgotten how to tell a full story. But out came the timeline... being caught by Dumbledore in the hall, being forced to ask Snape for the potion. He cringed but continued as he explained the severe awkwardness and shame he felt as Snape cleaned his wounds. He explained his inability to hug Hermione back, and how much it had hurt him to see her cry. Ron sat patiently and listened to every word; he even smiled and gasped when Harry admitted how much Firewhiskey he'd finished off, and then frowned again when Harry explained what had brought him to drink.

When Harry finally finished, Ron stared at him, his expression unreadable.

"I'm sorry, mate. I shouldn't have been so shitty to you. I had no idea..."

"That's okay, Ron, I would have been frustrated too," Harry quickly admitted.

"So I suppose you're going back there tonight, then?"

"Yeah, I suppose I am," responded Harry. "But I think this means we can start having meals together again," he added once he saw Ron's disappointment.

"Yeah, I guess so," said Ron. Then- "I still don't get it, Harry, and I don't understand why you have to stay with Snape. I don't trust him. But, if it means you'll stop... stop doing that..."

That had been the confirmation Harry needed. No hugs and tears were necessary with Ron. This type of submission was understood as an expression of caring, and Harry deeply appreciated it. They walked to the portrait hole in silence, but it was not awkward. It was nice to have his best mate at his side again, however ashamed and weak Harry felt.

Ron patted Harry on the back before heading toward the dormitory. Harry watched him walk upstairs before turning around and making his way back to the dungeons.

* * *

><p>"I almost did it again," admitted Harry, sitting in his usual arrangement across from Snape. Somehow, after confessing to Ron and Hermione, talking to Snape had seemed far less difficult. He'd chosen to discuss the hardest part first, figuring the rest would come easier.<p>

"You went straight to your dormitory to hurt yourself?"

"I went straight to Ron and Hermione, but they ignored me," explained Harry. Snape's face revealed a flicker of disapproval before falling back into its usual expressionless stare.

"And then?"

"And then I felt really frustrated, like they didn't care. So I ran upstairs and searched."

"How far did you allow yourself to continue?"

"I broke another razor again, with... well, the same way I did last time. And then I was going to do it. But I saw the plastic bits all over the floor, and I remembered what you said about being out of control, and I... I stopped."

If Snape had ever allowed his face to show a positive emotion for longer than five seconds, it would've been news to Harry. This, however, was a first: Snape appeared content... slightly proud, even. His mouth was turned into a slight grin, which, in Snape's case, was like a full-toothed smile. He allowed himself to keep this expression as he spoke.

"I won't pretend I'm not surprised, Harry," said Snape. "I have recognized more progress in that last statement than I have in the past two weeks."

"T-Thanks, sir," stammered Harry. He was not used to hearing his first name and a compliment from Snape in the same sentence. Then, without thinking, he asked, "Do you think that means I'm better?"

"Do you?"

Harry figured he ought to have expected the return question. He thought about it for a moment. He'd allowed himself to break the razor in another fit of desperation. Would he allow himself to go that far again? Would he allow himself to go further?

"I'm not sure."

"I believe that answers your question," said Snape. "What did you do after you abandoned your mutilation attempt?"

"I went back downstairs and confronted them. I told them I needed to talk to them, and I brought them upstairs. I showed them my scars."

"How did they react?"

"Hermione was pretty upset. She was crying, but she knew what it was at once. Ron, well..." Harry allowed himself to recall Ron's horrified expression and jealous words. The pangs of guilt returned. He'd wanted so badly to keep them safe, he hadn't anticipated how much more pain hiding the truth would cause. "Ron was confused, and I think he was jealous."

"Jealous?"

"Upset that I didn't come to them first. But I told him everything. And I think he gets why I have to stay here."

Snape paused for a moment. "You believe he understands why you have to remain in the dungeons," he repeated, tracing his jaw with this index finger. "So you are admitting that a legitimate reason exists?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Because I... I know I can't stop on my own yet. Because I don't want to, not fully. And I need to be accountable to somebody."

"I couldn't have worded it better myself."

"Yes you could," said Harry, and mimicked Snape's stone cold stare. "I am aware of my inability to cease this behavior without mentorship," he mocked in Snape's nasally tone. "I am unable to conduct proper behavior in isolation. I am currently incapable of holding myself accountable for my actions." Harry froze. What was he doing? Talking to Snape like a therapist? Mocking him like a friend? Feeling comfortable doing it?

To Harry's great surprise, Snape turned up a corner of his mouth in amusement. "Yeah, I... um, well... guess that sounds good and all," he responded, performing Harry's pauses immaculately.

The two stared at each other intently, keeping silent, trying to register the unusual friendly banter they'd just shared. Then, without warning, Harry burst out laughing.

And then even Snape, careful as he was to maintain his decorum, smiled.

Just a few more days until the start of term. Perhaps things wouldn't be so bad after all. He'd finally told his friends what he'd been too scared to admit all term. He had a small group of people that would be there for him. Maybe he'd even visit Myrtle.

He didn't bother to ask Snape how much longer he'd have to stay in the dungeons. For now, this was where he needed to be. After spending so much time saving the world, Harry needed to focus on saving himself. Snape was not Sirius, and would never be, but somehow, having a new mentor on his side made all the difference in the world.

Possibly, he could move on from this. Accept the help that would undoubtedly be offered.

Possibly, he could learn to feel again. Learn to live again.

And maybe, just maybe, he'd even try at Potions this time.

* * *

><p><strong>Love you all. x.<strong>


	9. Off to a Bad Start

**A/N: Hello all. Welcome back! If you celebrate Thanskgiving, I hope it was lovely.**

**I don't think I need to remind you that this is definitely an AU sixth year.**

**Um, another warning: Angst. Angst. Angst. *uses best Potter Puppet Pals voice***

**No, seriously. Angsty chapter. What a way to start the term!**

* * *

><p>There were only five minutes left until Harry's first Potions lesson of the term.<p>

Harry, however, remained positioned at the edge of the cold lake, seemingly unidisturbed by the fact. The chilly wind whipped bitterly against his exposed face. Had the water not been frozen, he might have been skipping stones. As it were, he had very little to distract him from the events of the day. His friends would probably be standing outside the dungeons, waiting impatiently for the minutes alone with Harry that he was determined to prevent.

He didn't want their apologies. It wasn't just that he was sick of hearing them. Yes, the new Ron and Hermione were insistent upon apologizing for every little disturbance, as if a stack of spilled textbooks in the hallway would send him over the edge, or a bit of cold toast would have him scrambling for the butter knife. Their overwhelming kindness was beginning to come off as mendacious as Rita Skeeter's. He missed the old Ron and Hermione, who wouldn't have been afraid to tell him if his homework was poorly written or his shirt looked stupid. He knew his friends were just worried, but he couldn't help but feel just as lonely without their sincerity.

Would an apology now, after all, be sincere? Ron should damn well feel guilty, but Harry had heard the words so frequently they'd lost their meaning. This was the first instance that he felt he truly deserved an "I'm sorry", but he dreaded the inevitable "You aren't going to do you-know-what over this, are you?" that generally accompanied it.

Now that he thought about it, he'd never really learned to skip stones. Was that not something that a father was supposed to teach his son? Or... a Godfather?

At least the sting that came now was justified. He'd spent the last two hours trying to convince himself that he wasn't stupid for being upset at his friends. His thought process drifted back to McGonagall's lesson...

_"I am going to assume that the majority of you did not spend your holidays brushing up on your transfiguration skills," began Professor McGonagall, beaming slightly at the bouncing Hermione. "As such, we will begin term by practicing a few simple elemental exercises before continuing with animal transformation. You each have a metal dinner plate before you. You will be transforming this into an ordinary wine glass."_

_"P-Professor," interrupted a shaky voice next to Harry._

_"Mr. Weasley?" responded McGonagall, her tone sharp._

_"Professor McGonagall, don't you think that this lesson is a little ... erm, dangerous?"_

_"Dangerous, Mr. Weasley?"_

_"Well, yeah. I mean, glass can be... can be sharp, you know."_

_"Glass... can be sharp," McGonagall echoed. "Thank you for that marvelous observation, Mr. Weasley, now If I may continue..."_

_Several students burst into laughter. Harry, however, did not. He could feel the blood rising to his face; something that hadn't gone completely unnoticed by Malfoy, who was now looking curiously at the two of them. Harry shot Ron a warning look, but Ron wasn't paying attention. His eyes remained fixed on McGonagall._

_"Please, Professor. If the glass were to break, one of us could... get hurt. Maybe we could try turning them into... I'dunno, pillows or something," said Ron nervously._

_"Mr. Weasley, if you are going to continue to interrupt my lesson with your inherently stupid outbursts, I will be seeing you in detention," spat McGonagall. Ron fell silent. "Now, as I was saying..."_

Perhaps Ron hadn't been completely out of line. But his carelessness wasn't something that Harry could easily overlook.

The watch on his wrist displayed ten past the hour. He cursed loudly and sprinted back toward the castle. He hadn't meant to be this late, but he was sure Snape would understand once he got the chance to explain how awkward his friends had been treating him. It was funny how he'd once feared walking into Potions fifteen minutes after class had begun. How he used to dread his Potions professor, the nasty remarks and the unfair treatment. Today, however, he walked into the dungeon with complete confidence. It was quite an unfamiliar feeling.

"You're late, Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor," came Snape's cold voice from the front of the classroom, popping Harry's confidence like a bubble.

"Sorry, Professor, I-"

"If you continue to delay my lesson with your tiresome explanations, it will be ten more. Now take your seat, Potter."

Harry joined Hermione and Ron at their usual table, careful not to catch one of their glances. He wasn't sure what he had expected. He and Snape had never really discussed Potions lessons, but he certainly hadn't been anticipating the same unfair treatment. He was staying in Snape's quarters, after all. Had they not become friends of sorts? At the very least, they had tolerated each other. He glared at Snape intently. If Snape had noticed, he didn't show it. He continued the remainder of his lecture without falter, and instructed them to work on their Memory Potion in groups.

When the noise in the classroom had reached a proper camoflauging level, Ron finally spoke.

"Harry... I'm... that was... I didn't think that through."

"He means to apologize, I think," explained Hermione, delicately placing a Jobberknoll feather in their cauldron.

"Yeah... what Hermione said. And you aren't... I mean... you aren't going to... you know... over this, are you?" asked Ron in a hushed voice.

Though he had fully been expecting it, Harry was almost surprised to hear the words out loud. Could Ron really be this predictable? The anger that had been growing for Snape quickly returned to Ron.

"No, Ron, I'm not going to transform our potions book into a wine glass, shatter it, and use the broken bits slash myself!" exclaimed Harry. The color from Ron's face drained at the mention. Harry may as well have said Lord Voldemort.

"I'm just making sure!"

"Well you can quit acting like this! You're making me regret ever telling you anything-"

"Harry, Ron's just concerned about you. I mean, we both are. Please don't be upset," said Hermione, who was crushing their beetle eyes with a look of disgust on her face.

"I'm not upset, okay? I'm fine. Look, can we just talk about something else for once? Like Quidditch? We have a match coming up against Ravenclaw soon."

"Right, Ravenclaw... I'd forgotten..."

"Do you two cretins intend to sit and talk about Quidditch all lesson?" interrupted Snape, his arms folded menicingly.

"We were just-"

"Being utterly useless while Miss Granger finishes your potion for you? And you, Miss Granger, intend to let them take credit for your work? Dear, dear... it seems you really do enjoy showing off at every opportunity."

Several Slytherins chuckled. Harry looked up at Snape, confused. He opened his mouth to speak, but Snape continued before he got the chance. "Zero marks for you today, I think, Mr. Potter. Perhaps you can try to recreate the potion without the help of Miss Granger... in detention."

And with that, Snape walked away to investigate Neville's cauldron.

* * *

><p>"Go on, then. I need a word with Snape. I'll catch up with you later," urged Harry impatiently. Ron and Hermione exchanged worried looks, but seemed hesitant to start another argument. They left without comment.<p>

The Potions classroom was nearly empty. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry thought he'd seen Malfoy staring, but turned around to find him leaving the classroom with Goyle. The only remaining student was Pansy, who was discussing some mundane holiday event with Snape. Stubborn, Harry approached the front of the room and took a nearby vacant seat. Snape took no notice, and was instead listening intently to Pansy's story, which Harry thought was about as interesting as feeding a Flobberworm. It wasn't until Snape began asking her questions that realization began to sink in: Snape had to be avoiding him. Nothing had changed. He grabbed his bag angrily, and marched out of the classroom.

He had been worried about finding Ron and Hermione waiting for him, but the person that stood outside the dungeon door made Harry wish for his initial prediction.

"Hey Potter, I saved you some of my memory potion!" said Malfoy with an odd smirk on his face, dangling a small vial of liquid from his fingertips. "I figured you could use it during detention to try to remember the ingredients without that know-it-all mudblood."

"Lay off it, Malfoy," muttered Harry apathetically. His foul mood did not need any of Malfoy's taunting. He turned around and began to walk away, but a loud sound made him stop: the unmistakeable smash of a vial against the stone cold floor.

"Or maybe," continued Malfoy quietly, "You could shatter the vial and use the broken bits to slash yourself."

Harry froze.

"That's right, Potter. Perhaps you should watch your noise level during lessons."

Was it worth lying? Would it matter? He turned on the spot, quickly checking the surroundings for nearby eavesdroppers. When he was certain they were without company, he approached Malfoy and lowered his voice.

"What do you want?"

"Nothing, Potter. But I'd certainly watch my step if I were you."

And with that, Malfoy left Harry alone and speechless in the hallway.

What did it matter?

What did it matter if he did it again? Why had he even stopped? For his friends, who were handling him like a China doll? For Snape, who had just destroyed every feeling of trust Harry had grown for him? For the secrecy that didn't exist? It didn't matter much, really. He had been stupid to trust any of them. He was better off alone, without having to worry his friends or risk blackmail. What good had come of him discussing his feelings?

Nothing.

And now, here he was, unable to stand up for himself, with nobody to talk to. All of the happy feelings, the feelings of strength he'd had just days prior, they flooded out of him and gathered on the stone cold floor with the spilled memory potion.

Frustrated, he bent down and picked up a broken bit of vial. A part of him didn't want to give Malfoy the satisfaction, but it wasn't quite strong enough to combat the overwhelming feeling of emptiness that had taken the place of every positive feeling he thought he'd had. He needed it, and it was there. It simply didn't matter how, and it didn't matter where. It just mattered.

* * *

><p>It was enough to return the rage. Harry stormed into Snape's dungeon and slammed the door angrily. He wasn't sure he'd even wanted to return in the first place, but he needed to retrieve his things. He began gathering his belongings, shoving them angrily into his messy trunk, taking great care to throw everything in as noisily as possible; he was practically begging for a confrontation. He heard Snape's footsteps approaching.<p>

"Harry, what are you doing?" asked Snape, calmly, as if the last Potions lesson hadn't happened; as if he didn't understand what was wrong.

"Oh, it's 'Harry' now, is it?" shouted Harry, thrusting his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook forcibly against the side of his open trunk. "Glad to know we're the best of pals again!"

"Calm down, Harry-"

"Stop calling me that! It's 'cretin' now, anyway, right?"

"You know I had to interrupt your conversation. You were speaking far too loudly about private matters. You should have known better. Someone might have overheard-"

"Well you can stop worrying about that now, because your favorite student already knows. And he's going to tell everybody if I don't 'watch my step'."

The silence that followed this statement was unexpected. Harry looked up from his mess of a trunk, watching Snape as he silently strode to his desk, collapsed into his chair, and planted his elbows firmly on his cluttered desk. He massaged his temples gently with his fingers, and Harry saw a look of concern that he hadn't seen before. He wasn't sure how to react. Though the anger was pulsing through him, he took a seat across from Snape, keeping his fists clenched tight, and biting his lip to avoid shouting.

"What?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Snape did not answer at first, keeping his eyes pinned on the quill in front of him. When he finally did speak, his voice was as gentle as Dumbledore's:

"Draco knows?"

"Well, yeah, that's what I've said, isn't it?" exclaimed Harry, upset that this seemed to be Snape's only concern. "And now everyone will know!"

"Your biggest concern should not be your fellow classmates," said Snape solemnly. "The Dark Lord cannot obtain knowledge of your weaknesses. The sole purpose for my continued abuse in Potions was to prevent this very circumstance, Harry, I thought you'd understand that."

Though he was still fuming, Harry felt a twinge of embarrassment at his irrationality. Of course. It made sense. Malfoy would undoubtedly be suspicious if Snape had started treating Harry respectfully during class. That would have been even more revealing than Ron's ridiculous outburst in Transfiguration. Still...

"You could have told me. You SHOULD have told me!" Harry stood up, feeling his confidence return.

"I was concerned you'd react differently. I needed you to be angry, to be flustered, to be frustrated. When I heard what happened in Transfiguration, I knew Draco would be a bit suspicious already; I was hoping to extinguish that. And if your acting skills are as poor as your Occlumancy..."

"You don't trust me."

The words had escaped Harry's mouth before he'd even had a chance to think them through. He didn't deserve anyone's trust, not really. He suddenly felt regretful. He'd been so certain that he was on the right path; that he was going to get better. And he'd acted once again without thinking, allowing his irrationality to accompany his anger, just as he had so many times before. It didn't matter that Snape had unintentionally hurt him. Even if Snape had turned on him suddenly, he should have been stronger. He should have been able to resist. The guilt he'd been trying so hard to suppress overtook him. He stared down at his sleeve, knowing full well what was beneath it, and felt a sense of defeat that had nothing to do with Malfoy's knowledge or Snape's behavior.

He glanced back up at Snape, who had obviously noticed Harry's action, and recognized the knowing look in his eyes. This time, however, it was combined with a look of guilt. He sighed heavily.

"You're absolutely right, Harry. I should have informed you."

"No, I didn't mean-"

"I think, perhaps, that I have had my priorities mixed up. Now, please bring me your arm."

* * *

><p><strong>Oh, I know, I KNOW my dear readers! Things were going so well! I'm just as upset as you are! But don't worry, happy times are always just around the corner...<strong>


	10. Of Quidditch and Pride

**A/N: So I dropped my laptop on my last day of school last semester. And it broke. Lost all my story notes. I bought a new one recently. A cheap one, mind you, but it works well enough. (Yay Gateway... I guess!)**

**Anyway, so lost story notes. I tried and tried to rewrite this chapter and recall all my plans. It came out absolute shit, and I almost gave up entirely.**

**Your reviews, however, inspired me to keep going. I love each and every one of you. Times a million and a half. Like, if I could kiss all of you and then make you all win the lottery, I would. And I'd even put cherries on top. **

**So anyway, I finished the chapter - finally, after two weeks of staring at Notepad. ****It's gonna take me a bit to get back in my writing grove, so stick with me! (I also finished this chapter on too much wine - shame on me!)******

**I guess what I'm trying to say, dear readers, is best expressed with the first line of Chapter 10: **

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry."<p>

"Don't apologize."

"If I've done something wrong-"

"Let me rephrase. Don't apologize to me. Your disservice was to yourself, Harry," replied Snape calmly. "You need to learn to respect yourself. I know we've discussed where you should hold your accountability in the past, and while I hope that I help you remain so, I don't believe this is necessarily the best method."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, rubbing the pink patch on his arm Snape's healing charms had left behind.

"I want you to be accountable to somebody to help you heal, Harry, but I'm beginning to realize it can't always be me. Your actions today - and don't apologize again - have proven that you need some personal responsibility. You can't always use me as a crutch."

"It was just a misunderstanding, sir. I know that-"

"If we quarrel, or if I'm gone, you'll have nothing left to stop you," interrupted Snape bluntly.

Harry wanted badly to disagree, but he knew Snape was right. They hadn't even fought, not properly, yet Harry had taken his anger toward Snape out on his arm. Even so, he wasn't sure he'd be okay trusting himself. Could he, really?

"I understand what you're saying, sir. It's just... well, I want to. So if the only person I have to be accountable for is me, I'll likely just go through with it. I mean, it's kinda how it was before... before Dumbledore sent me here."

"You have a valid point. We'll just need to work on that a bit. Fortunately, we have a detention to schedule."

"I really have detention?"

Snape grinned. "I'm afraid you do, Potter. However, I believe we have more concerning matters to discuss than Memory Potions. We'll talk tomorrow night. I think it's best if you use tonight to make amends with your friends... once again."

Harry returned Snape's grin before standing up and heading towards the Great Hall for dinner. Not all was lost, after all. He was looking forward to his detention with Snape; it would be the first time they'd have an actual therapy session concerning his actions. He knew he wasn't ready to let it go, not really. But he also knew that the shame that accompanied his relapses, the shame that hadn't been present before he got to know Snape, it was worse than Draco's taunts or Ron's stupid outbursts. Perhaps Snape didn't want Harry to use him as a crutch anymore, but Snape didn't comprehend how much of a positive impact he'd had on Harry. He'd never thought of his behavior as anything but a remedy. Now it felt like an addiction, and one he needed to overcome. He owed quite a bit of gratitude to his once-loathed potions professor.

After arguing with himself all the way to the Great Hall, Harry finally decided it probably wasn't worth it to play the stubborn game with his best friends. He needed them, after all, and the last time he opted for silence hadn't turned out so well. Ron and Hermione seemed surprised when he accompanied them at the table, but he held up his hand in protest to their apologies.

"I know, and me too. So, about the match tomorrow..."

His friends exchanged confused glances, but submitted to the subject drop. Perhaps they were exhausted from drama as well.

That, and Ron couldn't resist participating in his favorite topic of conversation.

* * *

><p>The Quidditch discussion followed through to breakfast. Ron was, as usual, a bundle of nerves. Harry's excitement was beginning to sink as he attempted to raise Ron's confidence.<p>

"It's us or Ravenclaw that's got to take 'em down," mumbled Ron though his toast. "We have more points, so we're the obvious choice..."

"So long as you keep your confidence up, Ron, we've got nothing to worry about-"

Harry cut his answer short in response to the footsteps loudly approaching them.

"A word, Potter," came the interruption. Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione, but no suggestions were hidden in their blank expressions. He'd been waiting for this. What could he possibly want? His invisibility cloak? To hand him over to Voldemort? But he wouldn't give Malfoy the satisfaction of weakness. Without looking at his rival, he walked toward an empty corner of the Great Hall. Malfoy dismissed his companions and followed suit.

"How can I help you, Malfoy?" asked Harry sternly. He received a grin in response.

"Well I'm glad you asked, Potter. You and Weasley seemed to be discussing Quidditch strategies."

"...and?"

"And I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to revise them. As you are aware, the Gryffindor Quidditch team is ahead of Slytherin by an overwhelming margin. It's time we took back that Cup."

Harry almost laughed. "The whole world of blackmail at your disposal, Malfoy, and you go for Quidditch?"

Malfoy's smile remained. "I wasn't aware that your pride had an expiration date, Potter."

Harry's amusement quickly faded. Of course. He was merely testing Harry's limits. Quidditch was a starting point. How far could he let this go? If he agreed to give the game away, would his loss of dignity as captain be outmatched against the threat of exposure? And if he took the loss, how much more would Malfoy ask in the future? He tried to suppress the feeling of hopelessness and urge that accompanied the already frustrating scenario.

"You can stop pretending that Quidditch is such a priority for you, Malfoy," muttered Harry. "Why not go ahead and tell me what you're really looking for?"

"Now, now, Potter, let's not make hasty accusations," said Malfoy, and with a particularly nasty grin, he added, "Good luck today."

* * *

><p>"Well, we certainly can't allow him to tell his father about this. I hate to state the obvious, Harry, but so long as you let him toy with his trivial victories, much more complicated predicaments may be avoided."<p>

"If it escalates past House Points and Quidditch cups, won't we just reach that point anyway?" demanded Harry. He wasn't the type to pull the bandage off slowly, and his patience with Malfoy had already passed the point of wearing thin.

"I suppose you have a point, Harry, but we will gain more time to form a viable solution if we let him win," said Snape, who was now pacing in front of his desk. "However, I suspect your reluctance has little to do with the risk of the Dark Lord."

Harry dropped his head. "I don't like him having this much control over me. Especially when I'm trying to learn to control myself."

Snape's black eyes flickered toward Harry's newly healed arm. "I understand your frustration, but consider the situation. You are fighting an internal battle with yourself, are you not? Draco's dominance remains external. Once you have learned to control yourself, and I certainly believe you can, Draco's 'knowledge' becomes irrelevant. The only constant in this equation is time."

It was as if Snape were asking him to learn how to cast a Patronus in front of a fleet of dementors. Learning to fight his urges were hard enough without Draco's ascendancy, however external it might be. He might have the courage to push through with his head held high, but he'd need help coping. And where would that put him, exactly?

"I don't know if I can do this, sir," admitted Harry. "I can't let him control me like this."

"Then don't let it bother you so, Harry. You're giving him that control."

"He'll keep thinking he owns me, and I can't deal with that."

Snape sighed. "Such typical Gryffindor motives. Pride before cunning; a blatant disregard for the tactical advantage."

"The sorting hat would be disappointed," muttered Harry. Snape gave him a questioning look, but Harry did not elaborate. "I'll see you at the match, professor."

He slammed the dungeon door as he entered the hallway. He thought he'd lost his pride when he'd come asking Snape for help so many nights ago, but it seemed it was still there, still urging him to keep his head high.

"What were you doing with Snape?" came a voice from behind him. Malfoy. Did the universe hate him this much? He turned to face him and muttered something about detention.

"Oh yes, that's right... I trust you don't need a memory potion to remember our little deal?"

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"I've got a good bet on Ravenclaw now, Potter, I'd hate for you to screw it up for me. Maybe I'll throw a Galleon your way if you make good. You could use it to buy yourself a nice new potions knife."

"Are you finished?" asked Harry, digging his fingernails hard into his palms. He could do this. He could remain in control. _Just breathe._

"As finished as your reputation as a quality seeker, Potter. See you at the match."

* * *

><p>There was no questioning it now.<p>

Harry flew high above the Quidditch stands, trying his hardest not to let himself look at Malfoy's smug face. He heard cheer after cheer as Gryffindor scored; he just needed to end the game, that was all. He scanned the lengths of the field, hoping to catch a hint of gold... he was determined to put Malfoy in his place...

He came to an abrupt stop, allowing himself one last glance at Malfoy before taking off full speed in the opposite direction.

He'd seen it. The familiar rush of adrenaline pulsed through him as he flew, soaring past Cho Chang and narrowly avoiding a bludger; he stretched out his arm, his fingers drawing nearer, the glittering surface of the Snitch multiplying in size...

He sneaked a quick glance at Snape, begging for approval... he could practically feel the victory now, the victory against Ravenclaw and the victory over Malfoy... Snape's glare was nearly piercing him... he looked away, focusing entirely on the tiny golden ball floating inches before him... Cho was gaining on him... he could feel Snape's disappointment, the pang of guilt he felt was reminiscent of all the times he'd had to admit he'd relapsed... he couldn't let Snape down again... but it was so close...

Harry's hand hovered over the ball for a few seconds before he gave in. His arm fell limply to his side, his head dropped past his neck, and he felt the embarrassment and defeat filling his cheeks with a bright shade of pink. He looked up to see a very confused Cho Chang circle concernedly around him before snatching the Snitch for herself. A lot of things happened at once: Katie Bell found some very choice words to shout at Harry; Ravenclaw's cheers erupted loudly around the stadium (only to be drowned out by the angry howls of the Gryffindors seconds later); Malfoy's smug grin nearly reached his eyebrows as he high-fived his confounded cohorts; Jimmy Peakes smacked a bludger so hard it nearly broke the Whomping Willow in two; and then Ron was flying toward him, a demanding look on his face...

Harry didn't want to stay and explain. He flew away from the stadium toward the changing room at top speed, hoping to change out of his Quidditch uniform before the rest of the team had time to follow. He shoved his Quidditch robes angrily in his bag and stormed out of the changing room. He'd managed to escape before the rest of the team could question him, but just barely; he could hear the angry shouts of his fellow Gryffindors resonating at the other end of the hallway. He sprinted around the corner, hoping to avoid them, hoping to get away...

...and bumping straight into a person that made him wish for Voldemort instead.

"Good game, Potter," said Malfoy, smiling menacingly. "I must say, I was sure Gryffindor had it before their incompetent seeker forgot how to close his fingers..."

"Fuck off, Malfoy," spat Harry, attempting to navigate around him.

"Watch your cheek, Potter," replied a very taken aback Malfoy, holding out his arm to block Harry's escape. "I'd expect a little more respect - considering -"

"Get-out-of-my-way..." Harry's quiet voice was very near calm now, though he felt the anger inside of him rising to alarming levels. He needed to get out of here...

"You don't get to bark orders at me, Potter. I think that power lies in my-"

Harry's disarming spell hit Malfoy before he had time to finish the sentence. What power did Malfoy have now, weaponless, at the mercy of his disgruntled subordinate? Without thinking, Harry committed perhaps the second most surprising act of the day; he thrust his wand carelessly aside and flung himself at Malfoy, pinning him to the ground. He tried to remember all those years playing victim to Dudley. His cousin tended to go for the nose, as it managed to both hurt Harry and break his glasses. Unsure of where else to aim, he thrust his fist forcibly against Malfoy's pale noise.

He felt himself being hoisted off of Malfoy by some strong and unknown force behind him; his robes nearly choked him... he turned to face Goyle, who greeted him with a strong blow to the stomach. He doubled over in pain, but stumbled back to Malfoy... he could not let him win again, lackeys or otherwise...

"ENOUGH!" came a booming voice from behind them. Taking advantage of their moment of freedom, Harry and Malfoy scrambled for their wands. Just as they'd reached them, however, the wands soared through the air toward the outstretched palm of Albus Dumbledore, whose free hand was pointing angrily toward the castle.

* * *

><p>"Explain."<p>

"Potter attacked me," responded Malfoy, who was pressing a blood-stained cloth firmly against his bleeding nose. Harry bit his lip, keeping his eyes glued to the wall.

"And what would motivate him to do that?" asked Dumbledore calmly. Though Harry's eyes hadn't left the wall, he could feel Dumbledore's piercing blue ones searching him curiously.

"As if he needs a reason in his current emotional state," huffed Malfoy, who was now examining the cloth for a cleaner portion.

"His current emotional state..." echoed Dumbledore, his eyes remaining on Harry, who was continuing to avoid contact. "Care to elaborate?"

"Perhaps he needed to hurt someone else for a change," said Malfoy, whose bloody lips were forming a smirk, "somebody other than-"

Harry felt the blood rush to his face. He stood up, pushing his chair back noisily. "I did... what you asked... I threw the match... I-"

Dumbledore held up his hand, silencing Harry. "Draco, please head down to Professor Snape's office. Explain what has happened. I will meet you there momentarily; I wish to have a few words with Mr. Potter in private."

Draco snatched his wand from Dumbledore's desk, and gave Harry one last smug look before walking away.

If Harry had endured any amount of animosity toward Draco Malfoy that day, it was nothing compared to what he felt once he saw Malfoy strut victoriously toward the spiral staircase. He clenched his fists, digging his nails into the palm of his hand strenuously. What else could possibly go wrong? He wasn't sure where to place blame... at Ron, for drawing Malfoy's attention in Transfiguration; at Snape, for encouraging him to lose the match; at Dumbledore, for catching him; at himself... for getting caught...

"My initial request would be that you finish Draco's sentence for me, but I can only assume you will remain silent."

Harry looked up at Dumbledore, but did not grant him an answer. He was growing tired of these conversations.

"As expected." Dumbledore sighed before continuing. "Which then leads me to presume that my suspicions are correct. Harry, I must admit I'm a bit disappointed. I honestly thought that you would have been finished with this by now."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

"I admit my actions may not have been the most appropriate, Harry. I should have helped you myself. I was aware of your distaste for the Professor Snape, Harry, and I apologize for leaving this matter in his hands. I should have intervened sooner, we could have prevented Draco's knowledge of the matter-"

"So that's your biggest concern, is it?"

"Of course not, Harry. Your mental health is of the utmost importance to me. Perhaps, if you agree to accept my guidance, we can work through this together-"

"You mean without Snape."

"It only seems apparent that he hasn't handled the situation satisfactorily."

"Snape has done just fine HANDLING me, sir," snapped Harry. He did not avoid Dumbledore's oddly glittering eyes this time; instead, he glared at them intensely. "I'm sorry if we haven't met your expectations, Professor. Maybe next time you throw me at somebody's doorstep for fixing, you could try sticking around a bit!"

"Harry-"

But Harry didn't wait for Dumbledore to finish his sentence. Snatching his wand, he stormed to the spiral staircase, sprinted down the steps, down the hall, and up to the third floor corridor. He marched towards Gryffindor Tower angrily, but a familiar site caught his eye. He halted at the statue of the humpbacked witch.

Well, it wasn't as if he really had a place to go, anyway. He tapped the statue with his wand.

_"Dissendium."_

* * *

><p>The Three Broomsticks was nearly vacant when Harry arrived. The warmth of the pub soothed his frozen exterior, but did nothing for the copious amounts of frustration he held inside. He took a seat in the far corner, attempting to avoid the window as much as possible. Madam Rosmerta approached the table cheerily, sporting her unusually neon green heels.<p>

"What'll it be?"

"Firewhiskey."

She eyed him for a moment. "How's sixth year treating you? I'll bring a butterbeer right out."

Harry sighed as he slumped in his chair. Lovely. His fingernails had broken the skin on his palm, and his bruised stomach was aching horribly. He was unable to find a position in the chair that would soothe it, and for a fleeting moment, he considered the pain. It should help, right? Why was it any different than what he most wanted to do at the moment?

Oh, right. Because he hadn't caused it.

Madame Rosmerta approached the table with his legal drink. "You doing okay? You seem kind of-"

"I'm _fine,_" interrupted Harry angrily. Rosmerta looked very taken aback. She set the drink in front of him and stalked off without another word. Harry might have felt guilty, but the mild drink in front of him kept him apathetic. What did the stupid age limit matter, anyway, in the scheme of things? Harry was being blackmailed, his pride destroyed. There were Death Eaters killing muggles. Madam Rosmerta couldn't possibly understand what it was like to be Harry Potter. He felt he deserved a drink.

_Quit feeling sorry for yourself - you're being ridiculous,_ he thought. She was just doing her job, after all.

But she was taking away the one thing that might stop him from-

_I'm in control,_ Harry reminded himself. Yes, that was it. He was in control. He waited for Rosmerta to disappear into the back before pulling out his wand and whispering the summoning charm. The bottle glided off the top shelf and landed in his lap with a delicate thud. Just having it felt comforting. He wouldn't drink too much, of course. He just wanted to numb the frustration a bit, to help himself.

He looked around for Rosmerta once more before opening the bottle and holding it steady above his glass of Butterbeer.

"At least you're mixing it now," came a deep voice from behind him. Startled, Harry dropped the bottle. It smashed on the floor beside him, and Madam Rosmerta came rushing out in surprise.

"Is everything okay? What-" She paused as her eyes drifted to the floor. She rose her glare to meet Harry's face. "Well, I hope you plan on paying for this," she spat.

"We'll take care of it, Madam," assured Snape. "Please give us a moment."

Her red face looked from Snape to Harry and back again, but she didn't say another word as she returned to her storage closet.

Snape took the chair across from Harry. "Blowing off detention to get_ 'wasted'_?"

"How'd you find me?" replied Harry. He wasn't sure where else to take the conversation. He felt his face hot with embarrassment once again. It seemed he wasn't quite subtle enough to get away with his coping mechanisms anymore.

"When the Headmaster informed me of the discussion you two shared, I assumed you'd end up doing something careless. I figured you'd probably want to get away from the castle. This seemed plausible."

His tone had been calm, but Harry could feel the disappointment. He dropped his head. "I wasn't planning on-"

"Getting drunk?" finished Snape. "I believe your intentions may have been so, but I don't think your trust has reached the level to merit such a mild outcome."

"Your trust in me?"

"Your trust in yourself."

"Ah... I... _yeah.._." muttered Harry, keeping his eyes pinned to his empty lap.

"I certainly hope we haven't regressed to stammering conversation again, because there is a lot of that to be had tonight."

"Are you pissed?"

"What?"

"Are you angry with me?" repeated Harry shamefully.

Snape sighed heavily. "Once again, your focus is on somebody other than yourself. Harry, how do _you_ feel about your actions tonight?"

Harry took a gulp of his Butterbeer. "I don't feel bad for hitting that asshole, if that's what you mean."

"I thought not. How's your stomach feeling?"

"Shit. Would it be too much to ask you to heal it?"

"Would it help you talk?"

Harry considered the question thoroughly before answering. "I think we need to talk either way."

"Good answer, Mr. Potter. Now pay Madam Rosmerta for your wrongdoing. I think it's time we returned to the castle."

"Professor... did Dumbledore tell you... what we talked about?" asked Harry, fishing for some sickles in his pocket.

"Vaguely. Was there something you needed to tell me?"

"He thinks you shouldn't be helping me. He says I should have been better by now."

"I'm not surprised," mused Snape. "He seems to think you have the common cold."

Harry gave Snape half a smile before apologetically paying Rosmerta, whose angry expression softened at the gratuitous tip. Snape handed him his coat before they marched towards the exit. He paused a moment before opening the door.

"I'm not angry with you, foolish boy," he said, and pushed the door open. Icy wind poured into the warm bar, but Harry hardly noticed as he followed Professor Snape outside.

The bitter cold was no match for the warmth that came with being at least mildly understood.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I wanted to mention that I know a few of my reviewers are going through something similar. Whether it be alcohol, cutting, depression, whatever... I just want you to know that I've been there, and I'm here. Seriously. *Siriusly. Tweet me, PM me, or e-mail me if you need to talk, have questions, want to chat about how awesome Boneless Buffalo Chicken Salads are from Chilis (really, try one. Orgasmic!). I'm here and I love you!  
>Baby, you're not alone. <strong>


	11. Lacking in Consideration

**A/N:**

**Before I jump right in, I have a bit of a concern. I love all of your reviews. You guys are so incredibly inspirational and kind. I also certainly appreciate constructive criticism (I'm looking at you, FatCat91!). It's always good to hear your honest thoughts and opinions. Thanks for your input!**

**However, there was one review that has been eating at me for months. Somebody mentioned that all Harry did in this story was cry, or feel embarrassed, or guilty... and that he was babyish. I couldn't figure out why it had affected me so much (I really don't mind constructive reviews) until recently. This story wasn't just written to fulfill my angsty fanfiction guilty pleasure. Honestly, as I've said before, much of this story is written from experience.**

**I debated about even commenting on it. But, as part of my goal is to help explain this subject to those that may not be as familiar with it, I couldn't help but feel a bit insulted. Cutting IS embarrassing, guilt-provoking, and brings tears. That's WHAT IT DOES. Every single time somebody notices your scars, every single time your friends bring up the issue, every single time you catch somebody staring, or you have to admit what you've done... it comes back. The embarrassment. The guilt. It doesn't go away.**

**To put some perspective on the matter, it's been ten years and I still have those feelings. Harry's secret has been out for what, a month? It's impossible to have him forget and move on. And really, would you expect him to?**

**I don't want to stand on the soap box for SI. I can't speak for everyone. I just wanted to put that out there. Because I thought it was important to understand.**

**I love you guys! xox  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"Do I need to ask?"<p>

The question stung a bit, but wasn't uncalled for.

"I didn't. I promise," replied Harry sincerely. "It felt... wrong, I guess."

"I'm glad to hear that, Harry," said Snape, his eyes analyzing Harry thoughtfully. "Why do you think it felt wrong?"

Harry shifted in his seat, glancing around Snape's office anxiously. He really hadn't thought too much about it. The events of the day had gone so fast, they all seemed to blur together. Admittedly, his thoughts were elsewhere. He'd wanted to begin the conversation asking about Snape's meeting with Malfoy, but he didn't want to interrupt Snape in therapy mode. He tried to recall his thoughts after leaving Dumbledore's office. To run for a knife? He'd considered it fleetingly, of course, as always. But why he hadn't gone through with it was a question he wasn't sure he knew the answer to.

"Maybe... maybe because I'd already been hit pretty hard..." guessed Harry, brushing a hand over his sore stomach. He could already feel the bruise forming. "Maybe I didn't need anymore physical pain?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I suppose that's logical, Harry," he replied, but his usual silky voice didn't sound too convinced.

Harry tried again. "I didn't want to disappoint you, maybe?"

"Perhaps. But you opted for Firewhiskey, which you must have known would merit a similar reaction from me."

Yes, of course. "Well, maybe it's because I knew that Firewhiskey wouldn't leave marks," suggested Harry weakly, feeling more stupid by the second. The answer may have worked on Dumbledore, but he knew Snape would see right through his lack of confidence, as well as his distraction.

"Not visible ones, no. But I'm sure you anticipated me looking for you. I doubt you assumed you would get away with it again."

"Well, I mean... like I said before, I wasn't planning-"

"-on getting drunk, yes, I remember," finished Snape. He glanced at Harry thoughtfully for a few seconds. "Any other suggestions?"

Harry ran his fingers over his remaining scars, trying to remember his thought process. He'd left Dumbledore's office angrily. He just wanted to get away.

"I'm not sure, sir. I honestly just needed to get away from the castle. Why is this important, anyway? You said all of my coping mechanisms were linked to my need for control. I just replaced one with the other, right?" he asked, trying to suppress his impatience. He was itching to hear about Malfoy.

"You are absolutely right. Your coping mechanisms are linked to your need for control. I want you to analyze yourself, to know why you make the decisions you make. Understanding is critical for recovery," explained Snape. "Now, think back. Do you remember when you stole my Firewhiskey? How you found it?"

Harry picked at a loose thread on his robes, trying to recall the night in question. He'd felt imprisoned. He'd been searching for something. "I... I was looking for... for something to..."

"Yes, precisely. You thought long and hard about finding something to hurt yourself with. What I find interesting about tonight, Harry, is that you didn't. From what I've gathered, it barely even crossed your mind. Do you want me to tell you what I think?"

Harry nodded. He'd gotten the feeling Snape had formed this theory before they'd even had this conversation, and he was growing tired of failing to understand himself sufficiently enough.

"Draco knows about this," began Snape, crossing his arms. "Draco wants to use it to his advantage. He wants you to continue, he wants to sustain his power through blackmail. You, however subconsciously, connected cutting yourself to Draco's control over you."

"But we already knew that, sir. I mean, I did. I thought about that before... before the vial incident. I knew I was giving in," explained Harry, recalling his conscious decision to let Malfoy win. "I... I knew it. And I picked it up anyway."

"Tonight, however, it barely crossed your mind. You gave in once, but you made the connection that you are allowing these external forces to control you. And when the situation arose again, you didn't even have to fight it. You did attempt to settle for another coping mechanism, yes, but I want you to understand this link and your progress, Harry. If you were to find something healthy to replace this with, it may be possible to adjust your mental response triggers."

"But that's just with Malfoy. I mean, because he knows. I... I don't know if I would have the same reaction to some other issue," admitted Harry.

"Perhaps not. But this is an imperative first step."

"Professor?"

"Yes?"

"Can... can you tell me what happened when Dumbledore sent Malfoy down here?"

Snape stared at Harry silently for a moment. He uncrossed his arms and leaned against his desk gently, resting his chin on his now linked fingers. "I could sense this was on your mind during our entire conversation," he said solemnly, and released a heavy sigh. "Because I swore to be honest with you, I won't pretend I didn't have to continue my act."

"So you encouraged him," said Harry, biting his lip in irritation.

"He told me of his suspicions, and I did my best to brush them off. I told him the angst-ridden actions of the boy-who-lived were of little concern to us. Yes, I encouraged him, Harry. I encouraged him to stop focusing on such trivial matters. I told him the Dark Lord wasn't likely to think too highly of his obsession with you, and that, with Lucius on thin ice, he ought to be careful about where he places his priorities."

Harry's irritation was quickly replaced with a mix of gratitude and guilt. He hadn't meant to accuse Snape, of course. But given recent events, it seemed incredibly likely that Snape's discussion with Malfoy would have been anything but helpful. "I... thank you, Professor. How did Malfoy react?"

"Arrogance, as usual. He told me that the Dark Lord would forgive his father, and that he didn't give a... oh, what was it... 'Mudblood's dirty sack' what I thought."

Harry suppressed a laugh. "Did you get on to him for language, Professor?" he added snarkily.

"It was a surprisingly innocent remark in comparison to his usual, I assure you."

"Double standard! So does that mean I can start saying 'fuck' again?" asked Harry bravely. He forced himself to hide his smile.

"Don't test me, Mr. Potter. I'm told Argus lets his cat use the trophy room as a litterbox in cases of repeated detentions."

"Sounds better than hanging by my wrists from the ceiling for days at a time," replied Harry, recalling Filch's preference for outdated Hogwarts punishments.

"Keeping your hands away from blades and alcohol? This alternative doesn't sound too bad, Harry. Perhaps I will suggest it."

"Fuck that," responded Harry, and, unable to control himself, gave Snape a sincere grin.

Snape raised an eyebrow, but his faint smile was hard to miss. "Indeed, Mr. Potter. Your vocabulary may be worse than your sense of humor."

* * *

><p>The idea of explaining the Quidditch match to his friends in the Great Hall didn't seem too appealing, so Harry had asked Snape for permission to discuss the events with them privately in the Gryffindor tower. He left Snape's dungeon with a heightened sense of confidence. His first real counseling session hadn't gone so bad, after all. And knowing that Snape legitimately had his back was comforting, even if he would still have to endure a few brutal potions lessons.<p>

"Potter!"

Harry turned around in disbelief. Again? It was as if he couldn't have a happy moment without Malfoy's harsh interruption. "Do you just wait for me everywhere, now? Haven't got anything better to do?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Potter. Surely you realize you're in the Slytherin dungeons. Visiting Snape again, I see?" asked Malfoy, eyeing Harry suspiciously.

Harry stumbled through his mental excuses, unsure of what to say. "I... um, he was lecturing me. For the fight." Pitiful.

"Shouldn't that be McGonagall's job?" asked Malfoy. Harry clenched his knuckles tightly. Of course it would be McGonagall's job. He cursed his stupidity. He couldn't let Malfoy know the real reason, but then again, it was only a matter of time before he recognized the frequency of Harry's appearances in the dungeons.

"I'll bet he was lecturing you because of what I told him," mused Malfoy, and Harry released his breath in relief. "Well, don't worry, Potter. I don't plan on telling anyone else... so long as you continue to cooperate."

It was unbelievably childish. How could Snape not see how much Malfoy's interference was affecting him? Harry could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. He fingered the wand in his pocket, trying to list the reasons to avoid another fight. No unnecessary attention. No more visits to Dumbledore. No reason to further test Malfoy's limits.

His tension was well recognized by Malfoy. He glanced at Harry with amusement. "Off to do it again, are you? Make sure not to accidentally off yourself. I've still got essays to finish, you know."

"Don't worry, I know how hard it's been on you now that Voldemort doesn't love your Daddy anymore. Bit hard for him to threaten teachers from Azkaban, isn't it?" spat Harry, keeping his hand over his wand. No unnecessary attention. No more visits to Dumbledore. No reason to further test Malfoy's limits.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed into a sharp glare, and Harry could practically feel the wave of anger that had overcome him. Malfoy's weakness. "So when you slash your poor little wrists, tell me Potter, do you cry? Do you howl, like that dead Godfather of yours?"

Harry tried his hardest to keep his composure. He attempted to recall his list. No unnecessary attention. No more visits to Dumbledore. But it was Malfoy's awful imitation of a dog howling that sent him over the edge. He felt his fingers grip his wand tightly. It was so simple. Why hadn't he thought of it before? Anger pulsed through him as he pulled the wand from his pocket, pointing it directly at the oblivious blond boy, who was now doubled over and laughing hysterically at his poor imitations.

_"OBLIVIATE!"_

He hadn't meant to shout, but the words echoed off the walls, joined by the glowing reflection of the blueish green light that had struck Malfoy directly in the chest. He felt the rage form into panic as Malfoy was flung across the hall, smashing into the waiting bricks behind him. The hallway fell silent. Harry stared at Malfoy's unconscious body in disbelief. He slowly stepped toward him, keeping his wand pointed cautiously. As Harry grew closer, he felt his heart sink as he noticed the glittering scarlet dulling the usual bright glow of Malfoy's vibrant blond locks.

Shit.

"Malfoy?" he said timidly, attempting to shake the lifeless boy into consciousness. He felt his panic increase as the dungeon door slammed open, breaking the haunting silence of the hallway.

"What's going on out here? I heard... Harry?" Snape's eyes reached Harry's, then drifted downward toward Mafloy. A look of confusion and anger appeared only fleetingly, and was quickly replaced by one of concern and duty. He rushed to Malfoy's side, pulling his limp head away from the sharp bricks. Harry watched his face intently as Snape checked for a pulse.

"Is he..."

"He's been knocked out," said Snape sharply, but he did not bother to look up. Harry recognized the familiar healing spells that came next, and watched with relief as the scrapes began to vanish, replaced with innocent patches of pink.

"Professor, I-"

"Help me get him to my office," interrupted Snape impatiently. Harry stared at Snape hopelessly, begging for acknowledgement of his sincere guilt, but Snape was now focused on lifting Malfoy's torso. Defeated, Harry helped Snape heave Malfoy upward, dragging his limp body across the hall to Snape's office.

After struggling to get him through the heavy dungeon door, they sat Malfoy gently on the couch. Snape immediately rushed into another room, presumably to gather some potions for Draco. Unsure of what else to do, Harry ventured to the kitchen, returning with a wet cloth. He began cleaning the telling blood from Malfoy's pristine hair. Snape returned minutes later with several foul smelling vials. He took turns holding each one under Malfoy's nose, waiting for a reaction. Finally, he spoke to Harry.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry, I was just... I mean, I was thinking that-"

"No, Potter, the correct answer would be you _weren't_ thinking," spat Snape, who was now returning the first potion to Malfoy's nose.

"Is he... is he going to be alright, Professor?" asked Harry quietly.

"He's still breathing. Outside of that, I'm not sure. Which spell did you use?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but he was interrupted by a loud groan. Malfoy's eyes flickered open, and he stared at Snape blankly.

"Draco," said Snape softly. He pulled the potions away from his face, setting them gently in a vial-holder on his desk.

"Draco?" repeated Malfoy, his usual arrogant tone replaced by a curious innocence. He looked around quizzically, spotting Harry, whose jaw had dropped so low it was now almost at knee-level. "Is he talking to you? Hello, Draco. I'm..." Malfoy paused, scrunching his eyebrows together in intense concentration.

Snape shot a furious glare at Harry, and stood up immediately. He stormed to his desk and reached for a tiny vial of liquid Harry recognized as sleep potion. "You passed out a little while ago," he explained to Malfoy, and handed him the vial. "I'm sure you're quite disoriented at the moment. This should help."

Malfoy hesitated, searching Snape for signs of trustworthiness. He looked over at Harry, whom he clearly judged to be more reliable. "Draco?"

Harry nodded slowly, his jaw still open, and Malfoy's expression softened. He sipped the potion timidly, keeping his gaze on Harry. Slowly, his eyes began to close, and he finally drifted off. The few moments of silence as Malfoy slumbered peacefully were eventually interrupted by Snape's angry voice.

_"A MEMORY CHARM?_" he shouted, his booming voice reminding Harry of the man he'd so aptly been referring to as 'Old Snape'. He felt his heart sink again, and let his head drop limply, gazing intently at his shoes.

"I-"

"You_ foolish_ boy!"

"I just thought, sir, that if I erased what he knew about me, that-"

"Don't you THINK I would have had the intelligence to consider that? And don't you THINK, had it been a REASONABLE solution, I would have performed the charm myself?"

"I... I didn't think of that, sir, I-"

"Does it_ appear_ you've managed to simply erase that single memory of Draco's? You have already seen the consequences of improper casting with this particular charm, Harry! You know how dangerous it can be if not used properly! Need I escort you to St. Mungo's for a nice little visit with Gilderoy?"

Harry bit his lip. "That was with Ron's broken wand! I thought, with mine, you know-"

"Don't lie to me! You didn't think! You let him set you off again, and you threw around dangerous spells without one shred of consideration!"

"Sir, I'm-"

_"You have got to start using your head when you're distraught, Harry!"_ continued Snape, his voice so loud that Harry had to catch a glimpse of Malfoy to make sure he was still asleep. "Please, let's review your record! What happened when you shouted at Weasley during Potions? What happened when you punched Draco after Quidditch?"

Harry didn't attempt to answer this time. He sat down in his usual chair, in the usual spot across from Snape's desk, listening to the usual lecture about his usual carelessness.

Snape waited for Harry's eye contact before continuing. This time, however, he spoke slowly, his voice quiet and low. "And what happened when you were alone and upset with Sirius's mirror? What happens when I leave you alone after this?"

Harry felt his throat tighten with the concern in Snape's voice. "I wouldn't... I'm not, sir, I_ promise.._."

Snape sighed and returned to his seat behind the desk. He hid his face in his palms, letting out a very frustrated sigh. "I should hope that you won't torment me with more of your carelessness again tonight, Harry. But I don't think you fully understand the consequences that could come of this." He motioned at the slumbering Malfoy. "Do you fully comprehend the seriousness of this matter?"

"Don't you have a potion that could just bring him back, sir?" asked Harry, his worry returning. He had been so used to relying on Snape. Snape, who had all the answers. Snape, who could fix anything.

"Harry, the entire wizarding world lacks a potion that could just bring him back! Why else would our friend Professor Lockhart permanently reside in the Janus Thickey ward?"


	12. Chapter 12  notice AN

Hello my lovely readers,

I just wanted to give you a quick update and let you know how much I appreciate your kind reviews.

Caught is on hiatus for the timebeing. My mother passed away unexpectedly last month and we're all trying to pick up the pieces.

I will update again when I find the motivation to write. I'm doing okay.

Thanks everyone for your understanding and loyalty throughout.

-SS


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